


Blazer Boy

by nohomoiero



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Social Anxiety, Strangers to Lovers, essentially it's about navigating a teenage relationship, really gay and cute i promise, whilst also learning to beat anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-11-13 14:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11187450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nohomoiero/pseuds/nohomoiero
Summary: There’s a new boy living on Phil’s road.He’s sitting on the sofa that faces the window with a bowl of Cheerios in his lap when he first sees him walking past the house. No taller than 5’7”, with messy, chestnut hair wavy beyond belief. That’s all Phil gets of him before he’s gone, but he registers in the back of his head somewhere that there’s a new boy living here; a 5’7” boy with hobbit hair.





	1. Blazer Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL HELLO THERE  
> please do excuse me it has been roughly 7 decades since i have posted on the archive  
> but lemme tell you THIS FIC is going to bang  
> it's actually been adapted from another fandom i wrote for that no-one cares about, but i wanted to post it so i used my good friend find-and-replace to turn this into a phanfic. you're welcome.  
> I DO HOPE YOU ENJOY LOTS OF LOVE xxx

There’s a new boy living on Phil’s road.

He’s not told this by anyone – it’s not really the sort of road where everyone is friendly and knows each other, although his mum does know sort of know everyone all the time – but he knows that he would have remembered him if he’d seen him. There’s only one other person Phil’s age living on this road and that’s Sadie, his mum’s friend’s daughter, who his mum had endlessly tried to get him together with until he had told her he was gay.

He’s sitting on the sofa that faces the window with a bowl of Cheerios in his lap when he first sees him walking past the house. No taller than 5’7”, with messy, chestnut hair wavy beyond belief. That’s all Phil gets of him before he’s gone, but he registers in the back of his head somewhere that there’s a new boy living here; a 5’7” boy with hobbit hair.

The next time he sees him is barely a week later, when he’s in the exact same position on the sofa, with two hands wrapped around a mug of tea (he didn’t feel like cereal this morning). This time Phil notices his uniform as he walks past – an untucked shirt and loose tie, and from this he concludes he must be a Cool Kid of some description. 

The weeks go by and Phil starts to make a point of looking out for him every morning. As September blurs into October the boy starts to wear a blazer – not a school one, mind, but a jet-black fitted jacket that looks impossibly cool on him. His hair gets longer becomes even unrulier; he swaps his plain black rucksack for a brown leather satchel; one day Phil gets close enough to the window to see the boy has a helix piercing he’s sure wasn’t there before. He’s not even sure he’s ever even seen a boy with a helix piercing before. Trust Impossibly Cool Blazer Boy. 

Some things stay constant though. He always has his earphones in, he always walks past at the same pace – unhurried but purposeful, and he always stares straight ahead, not ever noticing Phil watching him.

Until one day he does.

It’s mid-November by this time, and Phil’s morning tea has turned into morning cocoa. He’s sitting on the sofa drinking it, trying to pretend he’s not just waiting for Blazer Boy to walk past so his day can start, when he does, staring down at his phone expressionlessly. He gets halfway across Phil’s window view before suddenly turning his head to the right, as if he could sense someone watching him, and locks eyes with Phil. 

Phil can almost hear the whoosh of all the blood in his body racing through him as his heart pounds. He tears his eyes away and stares straight down into his mug, the corners of his vision going black with the force at which he’s trying to control his embarrassment. He stares into the mug until he hears his mum getting up, and then he dares look up again, as if he expects the boy to still be standing there, peering straight back at him. 

There’s no-one there, of course. 

Phil starts to drink his cocoa in his room every morning, and his mum picks up on this change, complaining that he’s leaving too many mugs in his room. 

“Also, Phil...” she starts one morning, in that soft, cautious tone of voice that means she’s going to bring up something he really doesn’t want to talk about. He takes a deep breath. 

“Yeah?”

“How would you feel about... I mean, after the Christmas holidays... trying to go back to school again? I mean, it can only be part-time at first, if you want, but... it’s just... it’s your last year, and you can’t... you can’t stay inside forever.”

“I don’t stay inside. I come to the city with you sometimes.” That’s the first thing that comes to mind, and he knows he sounds stupid and defensive. He knows.

“That’s not really what I mean, Phil,” she laughs uncertainly. “I... I’m going to start working day shifts again after Christmas.”

Phil feels winded. 

He knows it’s inevitable. His mum hates working nights and had only agreed to it because it meant she would be there during the day to oversee Phil’s studying. And he can’t stay away from school forever. But he isn’t ready to go back. 

He tells her just that, and she sighs. 

“Would you ever be ready if you didn’t just go for it?” she asks, walking over to where he’s sitting. She perches on the end of his bed. “Phil, love. I know it’s been really hard but I am really proud of you for all this work you’ve been doing out of school. And you seem brighter in yourself lately, or at least I think you do. Would you agree?”  
He shrugs. His mum keeps watching him, and he knows it’s not the answer she’s looking for. 

“Yeah. A bit, yeah. Rachael is helping.”

Rachael is his therapist. She’s one of those people who could talk for England, but she's also a very good listener, which makes her great for filling awkward silences but also listening to him when he needs to talk. She notices odd little things about him, like the way when she brings up school he folds his arms like he’s trying to distance himself from the conversation. Even she has been trying to convince him to think about school again, though he either blows her off and says he’ll have a think or changes the subject altogether. 

“So why don’t you just go for it? Avoiding it for longer is only going to make things worse.” 

“I know,” Phil huffs, and it comes out ruder than he intended. He doesn’t meet his mother’s gaze. “I’m sorry. I’ll think about it.”

“Okay, love.” She smiles at him, somewhat satisfied with that answer. She gets up to leave, but a thought bubbles to the surface of Phil’s mind.

“Oh, mum, I was wondering,” he begins before he can stop himself. “Do you know if there’s a new family on this road?”

She stands in the door way, looking thoughtful.

“I don’t think so. Why?”

He lets his heart sink a tiny bit. “Oh, okay. I’ve just been seeing someone walk past the house recently that I don’t recognise.”

“Hmm. Well I’m popping over to Jackie’s tomorrow so I could ask her if she’s heard anything then. Who have you seen?”

Phil shrugs and mumbles something about “just a guy” until his mum leaves. Then, he sprawls out across his bed and falls asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOT  
> sorry it was a bit short but you gotta set the scene yanno  
> i'm so excited to post the rest of it & i need to get into a posting schedule  
> i love u please leave me an encouraging comment xx


	2. Phil Leaves the House in December; Is Shocked to Find it's Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEHAW it's sunday i'm back here is your second chapter!! i hope you love it

It's so much colder than Phil had anticipated. It is December, after all, but it had been oddly mild these past few days. Looks like the winter air has finally awoken.

He trudges along the wet pavement, with both hands in his coat pockets balled into fists. He really wishes he’d worn some gloves or something because _Jesus_. He has half a mind to turn around and just go home again, to the wonderful warmth of his central-heated home, but the words of both his mother and his therapist are ringing in his ears – ‘exercise’ and ‘get out of the house a bit’ and ‘have you seen this study, it really helps to get off your arse and move’.

He figures he’ll just walk up to the park, hang around until he’s too cold to think, and then retreat home. Not exactly the most courageous of expeditions, but there aren’t really that many places to walk around here and did he mention _it’s fucking freezing._

He gets to the park – which isn't really a park but more a vast expanse of green with like three benches in it – and is about to collapse on one of said benches when he sees him.

Blazer Boy.

Phil could swear whichever higher powers exist are out to get him, because Blazer Boy is sprawled out on the bench like he doesn’t know what the meaning of ‘cold’ is, looking quite frankly delicious with his tanned skin a gorgeous antithesis to the jet black of _that fucking blazer_. He’s drawing from a cigarette, smoke curling in wisps out of his mouth when he exhales, and he's in school uniform – Phil remembers it’s a Thursday, maybe half two or three.

And then Blazer Boy turns his head and locks eyes with Phil, and he feels the exact same way he did when they met eyes through the window – there’s a wave of panic that hits him like he needs to run, run fast and away from here, but he swallows it down forcefully, begging himself not to start shaking.

Blazer Boy is looking at him expectantly, as if he’s waiting for an explanation as to why there’s some guy staring at him.

“Hi,” Phil feels himself squeak. He clutches onto the fabric on the inside of his coat pocket. “Um, do you mind if I sit here?”

He doesn’t know why he asked that. He would have been much better just to leave, so he didn’t get himself into some kind of awkward conversation with the cutest boy he’s seen all year, and give himself every opportunity to fuck up in front of him.

The boy looks nonchalant.

“Go for it.” His voice is almost raspy, Phil notes. He sits upright to make more space for Phil on the bench and Phil sits down at the very, very end, practically clinging onto the arm rest. As soon as he sits down a new wave of panic floods him. He doesn’t know what to say or do; his mind keeps drawing blanks.

“Want a cigarette?” the boy says, effortlessly holding the one he was just smoking out to Phil, between two slender fingers. Piano fingers, Phil thinks to himself.

“Um. No thanks, but thanks.” His face gets hot as he realises he sounds like a complete fucking dork, and not even the cute type of dork – the type of dork that doesn’t know how to interact with another human being. He desperately searches his brain for something interesting to say.

“How come you’re not at school?” he tries, staring straight ahead.

“I could ask you the same thing,” the brunette boy responds, without effort. He sounds almost bored. Phil wishes to God he had that kind of nonchalance.

“I’m home-schooled.”

“Really?” The boy is looking at him now. Phil turns his head slightly and catches his gaze. The subject has seemingly perked his interest. “Doesn’t that get lonely?”

Phil shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. But it’s, it’s nice you know, to not have to think about all the other drama that comes with attending a school.” He hopes he doesn’t sound like he’s stumbling over his words too much.

Blazer Boy laughs, and it may be a dry huff of a laugh, but it’s still a laugh and it makes something swell inside of Phil.

“I can see that,” he says, and nothing else. The silence stretches between them for an uncomfortably long time.

“You never answered my question,” Phil tries, timidly.

“Hmm?”

“I asked why you aren’t at school.”

“Oh.” The boy flicks ash onto the grass at his feet and sits up a little again. “I have Maths fifth period. Couldn’t stomach it.”

“What year are you in?” Phil asks before he can stop himself. His hands clench the insides of his pockets tighter as he realises what an abrupt and almost rude question it was.

“Eleven,” he replies, unfazed.

“Me too.”

Phil sneaks a look across at the boy, and takes a proper look at his school tie, the green and navy stripes –

“Do you go to St George’s?”

Blazer Boy looks over at Phil, meeting his gaze. Phil feels his heart start pounding all over again as he notes the colour of his eyes – typically melted chocolate doe-eyed brown, like every dreamboat he’d ever fantasised about. Completely unfair.

“Yeah, why?”

“I... I used to go there, before I was home-schooled. Is it still a shithole?”

Pretty eyes laughs again, properly this time, smiling in this way that makes Phil feel a bit gooey because it’s the first time he’s seen him smile like that.

“Yep, it is. I only just started but I’m already scarred for life.”

“Why, does Mr Yeoman still teach there?”

“Oh god, yeah. I’ve heard all the rumours.”

“The ones involving that dinner lady?”

“Yeah, and the ones involving sweaty gym shorts.”

“Oh Jesus, don’t remind me.”

Both boys giggle, and Phil wishes that his stomach would stop swooping with anxiety and excitement, so he could still the shake in his hands and collect his thoughts enough to make interesting conversation.

Blazer Boy takes one last drag on his cigarette and then stubs it out on the armrest next to him, flinging the butt to his side afterwards. Phil watches him, watches the way he moves so effortlessly, like he’s a dancer and he’s choreographed to be languid and careless.

“I better go,” Dancer suddenly breaks the silence with. Phil’s stomach sinks to the core of the Earth. “My mum will know I’ve bunked if I don’t show up when the bus does.”

“Yeah,” is all Phil can say, feeling sorrowful as ever as the boy stands and begins to move.

“See you around, yeah?” he says, walking backwards as he talks to Phil.

“Yeah,” Phil repeats, like an idiot, and Blazer Boy turns and begins to walk towards the park gate.

There’s a pull on his stomach, a clawing under his skin, as his mind positively _screams_ at him that _it’s now or never, fucking call after him before he’s too far away._

“I never got your name,” Phil shouts almost hoarsely after him.

He turns, a there’s a coy smile on his lips.

“Dan.” _Dan_. _Dan Dan Dan Dan Dan._

“Phil,” he returns, smiling probably too wide.

“See you later, Phil.”

Phil thinks he might lie here and let the cold kill him off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna post every sunday from now on! have a lovely week, let me know if you're enjoying it so far x


	3. Subtlety and Anxiety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! today i bring you good ol' chapter 3!  
> i'm going away tomorrow on a 4-week program which is exciting and scary, but i'm home at the weekends so i'll be able to keep this fic updated!  
> i'm plenty of chapters ahead in terms of writing, but i still hope i get some time to write :I  
> also, thank you all so, so much for the lovely comments so far, you're all so wonderful! it means a lot xx

Dan.

_Dan._

He doesn’t know what he’d expected. He’d tried not to pay it too much thought. But boys that looked like Dan were meant to be called something like Angel, or Valentino, not just _Dan_. Still, somehow it suits him, and it’s making Phil giddy to remember the way Dan had said Phil’s own name.

He tells Rachael about the conversation - about how he spoke to a stranger and didn’t break out in hives, but mostly just about Dan what he looks like and how he talks.

“Looks like somebody’s got a crush,” Rachael grins, waggling her eyebrows.

He denies it, but it’s no use. He tells his mum as well, and she’s more tactful about it, but gives him a knowing look all the same.

He can’t help but wonder about Dan. He said he’d only just started at St. George’s. Where had he moved from? He didn’t have a particularly distinct accent so he probably didn’t come from outside England, or the North. Had he made any friends yet? He seemed like the kind of person to have friends left right and centre, offering him cigarettes and hanging off his every word. He wonders if Dan would recognise or talk to Phil when he went back to school.

Phil had been cornered by Rachael and his mum; he’s going back to school after the Christmas holidays. He’s actively trying not to think about it though, so he doesn’t overthink himself into a state and then refuse to go like he just really wants to.

He doesn’t think about school when the Christmas break starts, and he can gleefully ditch analysing Romeo & Juliet for laying in bed and watching the Baz Luhrmann film adaption instead. He doesn’t think about school on Christmas Day, when he finds a jet black sports bike laying on the floor underneath the Christmas tree, and he knows it’s been bought with the intention of him using it to ride to and from school. He doesn’t even think about school on the days leading up to his first day back, though he worries a blister into the side of his thumb from biting the flesh there.

He does think about school, however, the night before, and it hits him like a tidal wave. He doesn’t let himself cry though, he just sits and breathes, and repeats _it’s going to be awesome, I’m going to smash it, I’m brilliant._

It feels odd in the morning, putting his school uniform on after so long. The sleeves of his shirt stop before his wrists begin, giving away the fact it’s over a year old, and he hasn’t worn it since last summer.

His hands shake in the car as his mum drives him in. As they pull up by the side of the school, Phil digs his nail into his thumb a little too hard and the blister pops, exploding blood and puss all over his hand.

“You can’t have people thinking you’ve killed someone on the first day back,” his mum tuts as she wipes up the mess for him. Then she strokes the back of his head. “Come on, Phil, my love. You’re going to do great. This is a big step in the right direction. Go in there and show them what you’re made of.”

He doesn’t really understand what she means by that, as he’s made of the same stuff as everyone else at this school, but he appreciates the encouragement.

He doesn’t have to go to registration; instead he goes to the “special educational needs” office – which is less of an office and more of a big room that looks like a classroom, but with more patronising slogans on the walls. He used to spend a lot of time in this room before the summer, when he started to get too anxious to go to some lessons.

“Phil! Welcome back!” A firm hand claps him on the shoulder as soon as he steps into the office. “How have you been?”

Mr Hanton is another one of these adults that flutters around him and his mental health – his “support system”, Rachael would call it. Phil prefers the term “good intentions but overbearing”.

“Not too bad,” Phil replies, and it’s the truth. Mr Hanton, who wears brightly coloured ties and has badly styled hair that makes him look older than he is, cracks a smile. “You?”

“I’ve been good, I’ve been good. Shall we get started?”

They sit down and Mr Hanton runs Phil through his timetable. He’s not doing French anymore, which he dropped ages ago, mostly due to the oral exams. He also stopped History; his teacher was a piece of shit who liked to pick on Phil because he never knew how to answer. For the gaps in his timetable he’ll be sitting back in here again, expected to quietly study by himself in with the odd few kids with learning difficulties.

He’s quite looking forward to it, actually. The SEN room was always the best part of any day because he didn’t have to talk to anyone; he didn’t have to worry about getting picked on to answer a question, or asked to run to another classroom to grab some textbooks, or told to pair up with someone he’d barely ever spoken to.

“How are you feeling?” Hanton asks him as he packs up his timetable.

“Nervous but excited,” Phil says with little conviction, but Hanton grins.

“That’s the attitude! You’ve got this. I’ll see you in fifth.”

Phil expresses his gratitude as he leaves the office, and as the door clicks behind him, the knot in his stomach tightens immediately. He’s determined not to give in now though; he’s back here, in this shitty but at times endearing school, and he’s got to make the most of it.

Besides, he sort of feels like he’s past the point of no return already.

**

His mum treats him to an Indian takeaway after school – his favourite. All in all, it wasn’t a bad first day back: there were no major mishaps or panic attacks, though he did get a few weird looks, and spent lunch alone in the library. The effort it took to pull himself together in the morning was monumental, but he knows it isn’t going to be quite as hard tomorrow morning, and it will get easier, hopefully, as time goes on.

And it does. Slowly.

The first week is full of bleeding thumb blisters and avoiding all the people he used to know, until Finn, an old friend, corners him in the library on Thursday.

“I wanted to come see you while you were off, but you don’t half make yourself difficult to contact, Lester,” he grins, and Phil knows he means it in an affectionate way.

Finn spends the following Friday and Monday in the library with him, catching up and talking about the new Against Me! album, and it feels natural. On Tuesday, they’re joined by Steve and Jake, friends of Finn’s that Phil doesn’t know so well. It’s almost too much for him to deal with, but he soldiers on, chipping into conversation as and when he can. Steve and Jake are easy to get along with, and quite the chatterboxes too, which makes the whole thing a lot easier. By the following Friday, Phil has been dragged into Jake’s form room by the boys for lunch, and the circle is completed by other acquaintances, Scott and Dee. At this point Phil’s voice is lost and his hands are wringing under the table, but it’s nice to be part of a group again, and he reckons he’ll adjust over time.

He keeps thinking about the fact that he hasn’t seen Dan at school yet, until suddenly he does.

He’s tucked away in the corner of Jake’s form room, round a table with Finn, Jake and Dee. He’s got one earphone in, probably playing some macabre Brand New demo, and he’s staring a hole in the table trying not to think about Chemistry last period, when the door swings open.

Scott walks in first, the chubby brunette clutching a soggy pasta cone from the canteen. Steve follows, and his arm is slung around someone - someone who has hobbit hair and doe-brown eyes and is wearing a well-fitted black blazer.

If it’s possible for a person to spontaneously combust without anyone else in the room noticing, then that’s happening to Phil right now, because _oh fuck_. He’s caught between flinging his pathetic horny teenage body out the window, standing and running from the room screaming to convey this state of mental emergency, or just throwing himself at Dan with all the might in his body.

Dan glances over to Phil and then does a double take, his eyes widening in surprise. Phil can’t seem to tear his eyes from Dan, not when he looks this good; not when he’s walked right into his life like this; not when he’s staring straight back at him.

“Phil, this is Dan,” Steve says. “He just started here last year.”

“Phil,” Dan smiles, not once breaking eye contact. “I do believe we’ve met.”

“You have?” Steve asks, pulling up a chair. Dan pulls up a chair too, spinning it so it’s the wrong way round, and sits down _right next to Phil_ with his legs straddling the backrest.

“Yeah. We met at the park a while ago. Spent ten minutes bitching about this place.” He’s looking at Steve now, who laughs and then immediately turns his attention to Scott, who’s stealing a chip from his tray.

“I thought you were homeschooled,” Dan says, softly, so it’s only an Phil-and-Dan conversation that can’t be heard above the hubbub of the rest of the boys. He turns his head as he’s talking, and Phil realises how close Dan and his pretty, pretty face are – closer than they’ve ever been.

Phil swallows.

“Uh, I was, yeah. But it was, it was never a permanent thing, you know. The plan was always for me to return here.” _God_ , his hands are shaking so bad today. He stuffs them in his pockets and tries to swallow down the rising anxiety that’s creeping up his throat like bile.

“Oh. Well, I’m glad you’ve returned,” Dan smiles, pinching a chip from Steve who is another stolen chip away from a mass murder. “Finn did tell me about you, and I wondered if you were the same Phil I’d met.”

“Oh?” Phil replies meekly, and the panic begins to set in. Dan probably knows about everything. Dan probably knows how wildly incompetent he is.

He steals a look at Phil and he must sense how wound up he is because he says, “All good things, don’t worry,” and then cracks a smile. Phil responds with a nervous giggle and looks away.

“How long have you been back for?”

“Since the start of the term.”

“You wishing you were back at home yet?”

“Every single Maths lesson.” Phil is proud of the smoothness of that response. Not that _not_ being a social clusterfuck is anything to be proud of, he thinks, but still. Baby steps.

“Glad we have the same opinion of it, then,” Dan laughs. Phil notes how he seems brighter in himself than when he met him before; more chatty and smiley. And it’s warming to see - but still he feels no less shaky.

The tremor of his hands won’t still, nor will the pounding of his heart. There’s a certain urgency to the anxiety that’s eating at him. It’s a familiar feeling when he speaks to a stranger, but it worsens when it’s someone he wants to impress – even Dan, who he knows he has no chance of impressing. At all.

He racks his brain for something Rachael might say.

 _Go find somewhere quiet to slow down your breathing and let yourself calm down. You can go back when you’re ready_.

So he does. He excuses himself to the toilet, hoping the boys aren’t too suspicious of the fact he’s taken his bag too. He locks himself inside a cubicle and collapses onto the toilet seat, turning up Brand New like it’s the cure he needs to survive.

 _Breathe_.

He breathes in, and he breathes out. And he does nothing but that for at least five minutes, his eyes shut and hands beginning to still on his knees. When he feels more composed, and more ready to start thinking again, he opens his eyes and starts to form an action plan. His go-to tactic is always avoidance and he wants to avoid Dan, avoid the boys, avoid school – but avoidance is the perpetuator of anxiety, he knows. So he has to just get up and move. And no, it's not a nice feeling, and yes he’s fucking scared, but he can’t let this thing in his head control him any longer. He’s already missed out on so much.

But no sooner has the click of the lock on the cubicle door rung in his ears as he steps out, is he wanting to dive back in again, because Finn is standing there, alone in the middle of the bathroom.

“Finn?”

“Phil.”

“What – I-”

“I’m sorry, I know this is a bit invasive,” Finn says hurriedly, and he looks very awkward. “But I wanted to check if you were okay, and Dan was worried that he’d scared you off.”

“Scared me off?” Phil repeats incredulously, as if that wasn’t exactly what happened. “Why would he have scared me off?”

“I don’t know, he just thought he’d invaded our circle, or something.” He takes a deep breath and looks at a fixed spot on the floor. “Look, Phil, I know... I know that things really haven’t been great for you, and I... I feel like I need to be a better friend to you, because I really haven’t been, like, all that time you were off, and even before then, I just. I mean. What I’m trying to say is, like, I’m here for you if you need someone, if you’re feeling bad and you just need to let someone know, or if you just... I don’t know. Anything, really. Did that make any sense?”

Stunned silence stretches out between them. Finn, although still chronically awkward, looks like he’s got a heavy burden off his chest. The very thought of all this troubling him for a while makes Phil almost want to tear up.

“Finn, honestly, I... I don’t know what to say.” No-one’s ever said anything like that to him before, and Phil is desperately afraid of being vulnerable with his peers, so he has no idea how to respond.

“You don’t need to say anything, I just wanted to get that off my chest. Should we walk to form?”

“Thank you,” Phil says in a solid, firm voice. “I mean it. Just... thank you.”

“Anytime.” There’s a pause. He’s standing by the doorway now. “Are we going or what?”

Phil grins in reply and follows him out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEEEE YO lemme know what you thought :)


	4. I Use Italics Too Much in This Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! hope you've had a good week.  
> we're only a few chapters away from some big ones ;)  
> once again thank you so much for all your support - all your comments are so lovely and keep me motivated :)  
> anyways, here's chapter 4. i hope you like it!

The weeks go by in a flurry of quadratic equations and empirical formulas. Some lunches, Dan sits with Phil and his friends again, and Phil is slowly getting better at not panicking. Phil will occasionally catch Dan looking at him, and vice versa. Phil is a fool if he thinks there’s anything there – Dan’s probably not even queer. Still, it makes him feels a little gooey.

And his anxiety begins to settle to a dealable level. There are still bad days, of course; days when his Chemistry teacher goes off on one about how important mocks are and Phil has to excuse himself to the SEN room; days when he says something wrong in conversation with one of the boys at lunch and he thinks about it for the whole week; days when he just wakes up shaking and can’t stop. But all in all, things are good. He’s settling in to school okay, he has friends, and he’s feeling alright.

He tells Rachael all this and she beams at him. She asks if anything’s happened with Dan.

“No, I actually haven’t run away from him since. I still get quite anxious but I’m getting there.”

“This is such good progress, Phil. But what I meant was, have you had any _progress_ with him.” She waggles her eyebrows as she says “progress” and Phil rolls his eyes.

“God, no. He’s probably not even queer. You can drop it now.”

“How do you know? Have you asked him?”

“Well, no, but I’m not exactly about to -”

“Why don't you tell him you're gay?” she suggests, like you’d suggest one should ask if they wanted to go get a Maccy’s, or something. Like it was some trivial thing you could drop into conversation. _Hi, my therapist wants me to tell you I’m into dick. Your dick, most pressingly._

“I think I’ll just wait until I’ve got exams over with,” Phil lies, deciding it’s useless to try and reason with her.

They soon move on to talking about the exams themselves and Phil can breathe a sigh of relief. The thought of Dan is starting to coil something up inside him he doesn’t know how to release.

**

On the last day of half term, Phil bikes home with the wind in his hair, thinking about the last six weeks.

He thinks about his classes, and how most of them are on the cusp of being enjoyable. He thinks about his overexcited English teacher, and how his Media teacher calls him The Photoshop Wizard, and that none of his teachers ever pick on him to answer a question in front of everyone. (That was probably due to a PSA from Hanton, but still, it’s good to not have to panic all the time).

He thinks about how he’s sleeping well, and eating more, and biking to school now when the prospect of being out on the main roads, pedalling all by himself, would have stilled his heart six months ago.

He thinks about Finn, and how they’ve become close friends – closer than they ever were before – in this past six weeks. He thinks about Jake, and Steve, and Scott and Dee; guys he barely even knew of before but would consider mates now. They laugh and joke and pick on each other and although Phil isn’t all comfortable all the time yet, he’s having fun, and he doesn’t feel as lonely.

He thinks about Dan, and jumps off his bike, wheeling it beside him on the pavement. He’s walking past the park that he first met him at. It’s probably not a good idea to think of Dan as much as he does but it’s a crush now, and Phil knows it. Whenever Dan comes to spend lunch in Jake’s form room, he breezes through the door with this stupid fucking smile on his face, and Phil’s day is instantly made. Dan always talks to him, but never sits as close as he did that first time. Phil has a little trouble not being self-loathing about it – _maybe if you’d’ve just stayed put and not freaked out on him he’d be sitting even closer by now_ – but he’s getting better at reminding himself it’s not his fault. Besides, his chances with Dan are ridiculously low anyway. And it’s not as if Phil could just sidle up to him and say –

“Hey, stranger.”

Phil jumps halfway out of his skin and falls off the curb, having to steady himself by using his bike as an aid. Dan is standing underneath the bus shelter at the entrance to the park, and is laughing at Phil, his face creased up like he’s just heard the funniest joke of the year. And to be fair, Phil probably does look quite funny right now.

“Sorry,” Dan giggles. He ducks out from under the bus shelter and moves over to Phil. Swiftly, he takes Phil’s hands off his bike and pulls the brunette towards him, so he’s standing on the curb again, the bike resting against Dan’s stomach. It’s a second before he drops Phil’s hands. He’s grinning at him, and staring straight into his eyes. Phil can feel a hot blush crawling up his neck, and looks away.

 _That_ was a thing that just happened, then.

“I don’t have very good spatial awareness,” Phil mumbles, gently taking his bike from where it was resting on Dan. He takes care not to let his fingers brush against his skin, lest he would want to explode even more.

“I can tell.” The brunette boy is still grinning at him, observing him with intent. Phil suddenly feels the need to create as much space between them as possible. He clears his throat.

“Were you waiting for a bus?”

“Nah, I just got off one. Are you walking this way?” He gestures up the road, which follows round to where Phil – and presumably Dan – lives.

“Yeah, I am.”

They walk along together, and Phil’s apprehension of being alone with Dan is dwarfed by how natural their conversation feels. Dan chatters on about how he’s excited to have a week off so he can finally marathon the last season of Star Trek, and Phil comments that he didn’t have Dan down as a Trekkie.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, you know. I might look like a cool punk motherfucker, but on the inside I’m just a giant nerd,” he giggles. It makes Phil melt.

Phil tells Dan, when he asks, about his plans for the half term holiday - he’s going down to Southampton for a few days to see family, and Dan seems genuinely interested; he asks if Phil is from Southampton.

“I was born there, yeah. We moved here when I was really little, though.”

“Really? I used to go to Southampton all the time. I lived on the Isle of Wight until, like, six months ago.”

“You did? I did wonder where you were from. I knew you couldn’t have lived here for ages because I didn’t recognise you when I first saw you.”

“Well my mum’s actually lived on this road for years, but she’s a bit of a crazy cat lady and kept to herself.”

“Really?” Phil stops, because they’re outside his house now, but he doesn’t want to go in. “That sounds like the perfect life, to be honest.” That makes Dan laugh. Again, Phil looks away. “Who did you live with before your mum?”

“My dad.” There’s a pause. Phil thinks maybe he shouldn’t have asked, but he steals a look at Dan and he doesn’t look upset or distant, he’s just climbing so he can sit on the wall outside Phil’s. “My brother and I lived with him for years but he wanted to move to America to live with his girlfriend, and we didn’t really want to go to, so we came up here.”

“Really? You turned down the States for _this_?” Phil asks incredulously, motioning to the space around him. The boy in the well-fitted blazer laughs, his eyes glittering.

“Hey, I think I made the right choice. There aren’t any Phils in the US.”

“I’m pretty sure there are.”

“Yeah, okay, but not _you_.” He says it softly, with emphasis, and he must be completely blind to what he’s doing to Phil because _fuck_ is he squirming and blushing and trying to cope with his stomach doing a thousand dives. 

There’s another pause. Phil is grinning, and grinning hard, avoiding looking at the brunette by staring straight at the ground. Then Dan shifts, and jumps off the wall again.

“Do you want to come to mine?” he asks, nodding behind him to gesture towards his house. “You can meet my cats. I don’t think anyone’s home yet.”

“I can’t, sorry,” comes Phil’s reflex response. “My mum and I are going out in a bit.”

Dan’s smiley enthusiasm dissolves a little, and he looks disappointed. The only words in Phil’s head right now are _what the fuck did you say that for_ – but of course he knows why he said it. He’s awkward, and anxious, and any more time he spends with Dan would mean more of an opportunity to fuck it up.

“Oh, okay. Well, another time, yeah?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Cool.”

Phil moves towards the door.

“Well, I’ll see you around then. Have a good time in Southampton.”

“Thanks.” In his hurry to get through the door, he almost says _you too_. “Uh, have a good half term.”

“Cheers. See you later.”

Phil closes the door swiftly and melts onto the floor. The familiar _whoosh_ and _thrum_ of the blood in his ears lets him know his body is freaking out, but he doesn’t know how to feel. There are hundreds of little thoughts flitting around in his mind; thoughts like _Dan is fucking delicious_ and _Dan thinks you’re a loser_ and _Dan likes fucking Star Trek_ and _Dan Dan Dan Dan Dan_.

Hopeless, he thinks to himself. The situation is utterly hopeless.

He disappears to his room to wank it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! let me know what you thought :)


	5. Southampton and Smirnoff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! i hope you're all well :)  
> i really enjoyed writing this chapter for some reason!  
> it's quite short, but the next one is long, so it evens out.  
> poor phil is visiting extended family...  
> i hope you enjoy it!

Southampton is never Phil’s favourite place to be. Maybe it could be, if he didn’t associate it with so much anxiety, but for all the time he has to spend with relatives he barely knows and struggles to make small talk with, it’s not exactly a thrilling couple of days away.

“Maybe we could go to Paris instead? Or the Bahamas?” he half-jokes while his mum is packing on Monday night.

“Sure, love,” she laughs. “Did you win the lottery and not tell me, then?”

“We could go to Croydon if it’s cheaper,” he persists. “Or, like, Colchester. I don’t care, just not Soton, please.”

His mother sighs, pulling her hair away from her face. It’s greying badly at the sides, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She probably doesn’t have _time_ to notice.

“Phil, it’s just three days. Two nights, that’s all. Millie and Jeremy have missed you. Just. Please.”

He stares back at her.

She inhales, slowly, seeing that her attempts haven’t yet shaken Phil’s furrowed brow. She sits down next to him on the bed.

“I know it’s hard for you, love. But it’s hard for me too. I don’t enjoy going down there any more than you do, but it’s just a couple days and then we can come home and ignore them until Christmas.”

Phil feels his eyes widen. It’s rare that his mum speaks about the strained relationship between her and her sister; it’s usually just conveyed in eyerolls when she calls or tight-lipped smiles when they meet. It’s always been that way, but his mum keeps a tight lid on it – she keeps a tight lid on pretty much everything.

“Okay,” comes his answer, meekly, as if he’s being told off. He feels sheepish and a little selfish now for not thinking about how it all affects his mother.

By the time they get to Southampton the next day, Phil has a clearer head on his shoulders. There’s a tumultuous storm pitting itself against him in his stomach, but then there always is. Somehow, it makes it easier knowing that he’s not the only one feeling shit about it.

Millie, his aunt, compliments him on how he’s grown and the fact his hair “doesn’t look like a bird’s nest” anymore. When his mum tells her he’s returned to school, she gasps and throws her arms around him, as if responding to the suggestion he’s been ‘cured’. Which is quite probably what she heard. Phil catches his mum dramatically rolling her eyes, and does his best to bite back a laugh.

It’s his uncle Jeremy, a stern man with a law degree, that Phil fears more but they tend to stay out of each other’s way, minus the occasional nod and awkward eye contact. And when Phil curls up in the guest bedroom after the first day, he mentally congratulates himself on his efforts. This time last year he pretended to have come down with the flu, so he could stay in bed and escape conversation for all three days. But he’s here now and he’s going to stick it out.

On the second day, they all go into town and meet up with other random relatives – second cousins and someone’s great uncle and whatnot. This is Phil’s least favourite bit of the whole trip, because: a) they all go out for a meal together and Phil hates having to order food from a waiter at a restaurant, especially when there are other people watching, and b) there are at least four people asking him the same shitty questions that he trips up on answering. He uses an old trick, though, and tells his mum what he wants to order, then takes a strategic bathroom trip. When he returns, she gives him an encouraging look, and tells him the waiter came by and she ordered for him.

The trip is reminding Phil how grateful he is for his mum.

The next day they go out again, just the four of them this time, but Phil and his mum say they need to do a bit of shopping and disappear into the bustle of the city centre. His mum gives him a tenner to spend on souvenirs, and he buys a new wallet for Finn (his old one sits at the bottom of a lake with a fiver in it; the group chat were all devastated on his behalf) and a skull lapel pin for Dan. Because it’s cool and edgy and he bought it from a tiny store near the coast so hopefully he’ll appreciate it.

They say their goodbyes shortly afterwards, and getting out of Jeremy’s car at the train station feels like a breath of fresh air to Phil. He catches himself thinking it’s quite the milestone, and maybe it sounds lame but it feels true; he's managed the whole three days of overbearing human contact without backing down, faking an illness or having a panic attack. Though still a fucking painful experience, he feels like he's made progress.

The challenge as to how _much_ progress he’s made comes by way of a text from Finn when he's on the train home.

_Open house for Steph G’s birthday party on Sat, thinking of goin got nothing better to do lol. Could give u a lift if u want. U in?_

Phil hasn’t been to a party since he was fourteen. And even then, it was more just twelve people in someone’s front room, playing on the Xbox and fighting over the stereo. He’s never been to a raging house party with alcohol and passing out on the stairs and fucking in the spare room, which - if his basic understanding of Steph G and her indie stoner group is correct – is exactly what this party will be like. The thought excites him as much as it does make his hands shake.

After half an hour of deliberation, he texts back _should be fun. are the guys going too? & might take u up on that lift offer, cheers ;)_

By the next day Phil’s plans are set. Finn’s giving him and Steve a lift to Steph’s (which apparently is somewhere in the posh part of the city), and they’ll meet the other guys there.

The best, and possibly worst, part of all this is that Dan is going too.

Phil already has a game plan: drink enough to be uninhibited but not enough to be embarrassing, find Dan just to indulge himself, chat to him until he gets bored and moves away and makes it clear he’s not interested, and then drink himself silly to numb the pain of rejection. Standard.

It’s not like it will be his first time drinking. In fact, far from it. His mum has always had a relaxed attitude to alcohol, mostly just because it’s not like Phil has much of an opportunity to be irresponsible about it. So she agrees to buy him some Smirnoff to take to the party, on the condition he doesn’t drink it all himself. He doesn’t miss the excited twinkle in her eye when he mentions the party, either; it makes sense that she’s excited for him, in that he’s finally going out and actually doing things.

In lieu of slogging away at the mock exam revision he’s meant to be doing, Phil spends the whole week stressing about the party. He stresses over what he’s going to wear, and over what he’s going to say, and over the fact that he doesn’t even know Steph or any of her friends. He’s so worked up come Saturday that he almost texts Finn to tell him he’s not going, after the second anxiety attack of the day. He just can’t stop thinking of every possible scenario that could result in him looking like a socially inept fuck. And there’s a lot.

So he does what any man at the end of his tether would do, and he cracks open the Smirnoff an hour and a half early.

Drinking vodka straight isn’t exactly glamourous, tasty or clever, but at least it helps Phil pick a fucking outfit: black jeans, a white Placebo top, and an old leather jacket. He messes with his hair until his vision starts to go fuzzy and then he just sits and waits around for Finn, teasing Dee on the group chat about his not-so-little crush on one of Steph’s friends.

When Finn knocks on the door, there’s a familiar wave of nausea that hits him, but Phil swallows it down firmly and opens the door. Finn looks flushed, groomed, and smiley. The vodka must be truly thrumming through Phil’s blood now, because he floats through the next few minutes of goodbyes to his mum, hellos to Finn’s dad and Steve, and the banter in the car.

“What’s the deal with the Smirnoff?” Steve grins knowingly. He grabs the vodka from Phil’s hands, and measures with his fingers the several-inch gap at the top of the bottle.

“Pre-drinks?” Finn laughs.

“You caught me,” Phil giggles. “You can’t blame me though. It was just sitting there all day.”

“I’d’ve drunk half the bottle if I were you, just thinking about Steph’s lot,” Steve scoffs. He runs a hand through his light brown quiff.

“Oh? You don’t like them, then?”

“Not in the slightest. I only came ‘cuz Jake begged me to.”

“Not the first time you’ve said that,” Finn buts in, and the car erupts into snickering laughter.

After a few missed turns, more immaturity, and Finn’s dad half-jokingly grilling him about using protection if he gets laid tonight, the car pulls up by the side of the road in a fancy estate, outside a large house pulsing with music.

As Phil steps out of the car, he takes another swig of the Smirnoff, and catches Finn glancing at his wobbly hands.

“Let’s go have some drinks and take the piss out of Dee,” he says. It’s probably meant to be reassuring, and it is, a bit.

The door opens while they’re still standing on the pavement, and Scott appears.

“Boys!” he cheers. “Welcome to the crack den. I’ve been told to inform you that you can only take anything if you promise not to whitey.”

It’s going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you thought! reading your comments always makes my day.  
> make sure you come back next sunday for chapter 6... it's a good one ;)


	6. AAAAAAAAAAAA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHH BOY HELLO THERE  
> hope you're had a brilliant week! it's sunday, you know what that means...  
> thank you for all your lovely messages! they mean the world. i'm still writing this fic and i just hit 20k, so i'm feeling pretty good about that :)  
> if you have spotify, i've made a playlist for this fic that i'll update each chapter! you can check it out here: https://open.spotify.com/user/nohomoiero/playlist/6tzvG6ku0qOm2c8lh3YN2G  
> fr though, you need to strap yourselves in for this chapter. it's quite a ride.  
> LOVE YOU enjoy xxx

Steph’s house is immense. Phil didn’t think people actually had houses like this, with gilded archways and marble floors, but apparently they do. He wonders how it’ll look after the fifty-odd teenagers here have left tomorrow morning.

People are packed into the front room, where the mini bar is, like sardines. Some shite dance music thuds from the speakers. There’s heat radiating off everyone like at a sweaty concert, but worse, and it’s not even 9PM yet. He recognises some of the well-dressed bodies, but most of them he doesn’t at all – they must have either massively slipped Phil’s radar or be from different schools.

“Come through here,” Scott tells Finn, Steve and Phil. They follow him into a smaller room, and there’s a much less dense congregation of people in this one. He knows most of the faces here, which suggests they’re invitees from his school, too shy to go and socialise with the other lot.

Phil and Steve slump down on a sofa at the end of the room, throwing their bags to the corner. Phil is still swinging the bottle of vodka from hand to hand, and he’s beginning to wonder if drinking so much of it was a good idea, because everything is a little more than hazy and he might be swaying a bit; he’s not sure. Still, at least it means he’s not as concerned with the people who are eyeing him up, trying to get their fill of him while deciding whether he’s gay or drunk or both. (Hint: it’s both).

Finn and Scott disappear off to find drinks and the other guys. Steve pinches the Smirnoff from Phil and takes a swig, wrinkling up his nose and gagging before passing it back.

“I don’t know how you can drink that,” he shouts over the music. It’s something by Arctic Monkeys; at least it’s a little more tasteful in here.

Phil shrugs, smiling at his own joke before he’s made it.

“Like this,” he replies, and proceeds to take another swig.

Steve rolls his eyes. Phil hadn’t even noticed that a girl with short blonde hair had sat on the arm rest next to Steve, but she taps him on the shoulder and he turns around, eyes widening. He stands up to hug her, and begins an animated conversation, grinning like an idiot. Phil’s grip on the bottle tightens.

_Straight_ _boys_.

He’s really not entirely sure that coming to this party was a good idea. He’s only been here ten minutes but he’s already quite drunk and is staring into space, left to his own devices to do shitall but think himself into a hole.

He wishes Dan were here right now.

The inebriated state of his mind allows for his daydreams to wildly unravel, uncurbed by sobriety or a wish to cause himself less pain. He imagines that Dan comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his neck, resting his chin on his shoulder. Maybe he whispers hello, or maybe he just bites his earlobe, but Phil can almost feel the warmth of his arms and the hot breath on his ear. Blood races downwards at the thought.

At some point, Phil had closed his eyes. He focuses on the mental image of Dan walking around the sofa until he stands in front of Phil, brown eyes staring into blue, so intensely like they always do. He imagines Dan lowering himself until he’s sitting on Phil’s lap, straddling him with a leg either side of his hips. Hips that could grind up into Dan’s if they wanted. Dan would take a hand and trail it up the back of Phil’s head, entwining his fingers with a fistful of his hair.

He opens his eyes before he dreams of the kiss.

And, as if on cue, at the other end of the room there is a brunette boy with hobbit hair, in an antagonistically well-fitted blazer, walking straight towards Phil.

_Fuck_.

_Fucking shit fuck._

Phil has to blink and blink again to make sure that Dan is truly there, and he’s not just hallucinating him. But no, his figure stays unwavering, and he gets closer and closer to Phil, his eyes not breaking contact for a second. It really does feel like there’s an angel, descended from heaven, walking towards him with eyes so doe-brown. Phil just sits there, staring at him, because he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Hi,” Dan smiles, rather softly, when he gets close enough to Phil for him to hear. He’s looking down at him with such a gentle expression, and Phil just knows he’s looking up at Dan in a completely infatuated way. It’s excruciating. 

“Hi,” Phil replies. He shifts over a little, and Dan sinks down right next to him, almost sitting on the vodka in the process. He takes it from between the two of them and holds the nearly half-empty bottle up, grinning.

“Have you drunk all this already?”

“Maybe,” Phil grins, turning to face Dan and resting the side of his head on the sofa cushions.

Dan responds by unscrewing the cap.

“Tonight’s going to be fun, then,” he concludes, and takes the liquid to his mouth.

The drunken boy watches him; watches the way his throat stretches out as he tilts his head back, that long expanse of soft tanned skin so _so_ close. If he’d had just a few more shots worth of that godforsaken drink he might feel confident enough to reach out and chase Dan’s Adam’s apple with his tongue; suck and bite it until the skin there turned from peach to purple.

He watches the way his full, pink lips press against the opening of the bottle, pouted and perfect and far too kissable for Phil to breath. He would give the entire _fucking_ _world_ just to reach forward and knock Dan down and press his own lips against them.

Phil is still thinking this when he realises that Dan has stopped drinking and is now staring at Phil, because Phil is staring at his lips. Dan is flushed pink. Phil is too.

“Uh. Did you have a good time in Southampton?” Dan asks, looking a little shy.

“Yeah.” He pauses. “Well, no, actually. Southampton itself was nice. But I don’t like seeing my extended family very much.”

“Me neither,” the brunette responds, smiling.

“Oh, and I got you something.” Phil reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the enamel pin he bought Dan. Without even thinking, he moves forward and pins it to his blazer, refusing to look up until he moves back again so he doesn’t choke on their proximity.

Dan holds his lapel towards himself, studying the badge. Phil watches his thumb softly stroke over the skull as his smile widens.

“Oh Phil, you didn’t have to, oh my god. I love it. I love it so much, this is so _cool_.” He looks up. “Thank you, so much. It’s so cool!”

“I got it from a tiny blue shop,” Phil says, for no reason. And then, “you’re welcome. It was cool like you so I got it for you.”

Dan is staring straight at Phil with this stupid smile on his face. _God_ , his gaze is so fucking intense. His smile is just getting bigger and bigger as he stares at Phil and Phil thinks he might burst into tears or scream or kiss him.

“Sa-am!”

Both Phil and Dan turn from each other to see where the chipper voice came from. A tall girl with shiny black hair that reminds Phil of Uma Thurman’s, is crossing the room and heading towards them with her arms outstretched. She’s undeniably pretty, and her makeup shimmers under the yellow lighting.

The sofa shifts, and Phil turns to see Dan has stood up and is now walking over to the girl. He envelops her in a hug, and they rock from side to side.

Phil looks away. The room spins a little.

He decides he needs to go and sober up.

**

“Fucking hell Dee, just go and talk to her.” Jake is clearly at the end of his tether.

“She's terrifying though, look at her!”

“She's a basic white girl who's smashed at 11pm.”

“I just – she –"

“Christsake,” Steve interrupts. He claps Dee on the back and steers him towards the girl – Ailee or Amy or something – before giving him one final shove. Dee stops just short of crashing into her, but she looks up from her phone, and he begins to talk.

“There,” Steve announces on his return to the group. They’re stood in the kitchen, the five of them: Steve, Dee, Phil, Jake and Scott, leaning on counters. Phil is the only one sipping water from his plastic cup, in a bid to sober up. It’s working, slowly.

“You only did that to shut him up,” Jake grins, the metal of his snakebites catching the light as he does.

“Obviously,” Steve replies. “It worked though, didn’t it?”

“Well that depends on whether he comes back complaining that she told him to do one.”

“I’m entirely for the movement of a migration upstairs so he has to work it out in the big wide world alone,” Scott suggests. He’s likely as drunk as Phil was earlier, gripping on the side of the counter to steady himself.

“I agree. Let’s move, boys,” Steve nods.

“I’m going to go and see if Finn found Dan yet,” Phil announces.

“Alright, bring them home safe,” Steve jokes.

As he leaves the group he hears Jake’s voice say something that he can’t quite make out, but is definitely punctuated with _Rebecca_. He doesn’t stop to ask.

Phil doesn’t want to go into the claustrophobic front room so he checks the smaller one that he was sat in earlier first. There’s no sign of Dan, or the vodka Phil left on the sofa, but the latter’s not surprising. He checks the hallways and peers into other rooms, with no luck, before following the sound of chatter through the back doors to the well-lit garden. It’s just as extravagant as the house; he steps onto a stone patio adorned with flowers and fairy lights, where people are lazing on garden chairs together. He walks further until his feet meet grass, at the very back of the garden. There’s no lighting here but he can make out two bodies sat on a log bench, one flicking the embers of a cigarette into a flower bed.

“S’bad for you, you know,” Phil says, and then immediately reprimands himself because, what the fuck.

“Really?” Dan’s voice drawls teasingly. Phil sees him sit upright. “I thought it was magic powder to make all these people disappear.”

“I wish,” Finn laughs, and then stands. “I’m going to go find the others.”

“I think they’ve just gone upstairs,” Phil tells him, slowly walking over to the bench. He’s debating sitting down.

“Okay, cheers.” Finn claps him on the shoulder as he walks by, and they exchange a look. It’s a knowing look, and Phil feels like Finn just knows everything all the time.

He turns his attention to Dan.

He’s sprawled out on the bench now, arms around the backrest, his cigarette poking out from between two fingers. He looks calm, and soft, and maybe a little bit wasted. Phil sits down next to him while they study each other.

“Tell me about your family,” Dan says gently, before Phil can even get a word in. It catches him off guard.

“What?”

“Tell me about your family. I never get a chance to talk to you, to get to know you.” Dan shifts on his seat so he’s facing Phil. Phil steals a glance sideways. It’s almost too much.

“Okay,” he says, and then clears his throat. He tells Dan about his mum, and about how hard she works. He tells Dan about his aunt and uncle, about the Southampton trip, and how awkward it was. He takes a breath after this, and lets himself unravel about the elephant in the garden – he tells Dan about his dad, who left when he was tiny, and used to send birthday money in the mail until he stopped, either because he couldn’t be bothered anymore or something happened to him. He asks Dan if he thought it was cruel that he hoped it was the latter.

“No, no, not at all,” he reassures him. “If the scumbag fucked off out of your life and left you without a dad, you have every right to wish the worst on him.”

“Thank you,” Phil replies, in a soft breath. He has no idea why he’d opened up so much, but there’s something about the air tonight, and the fairy lights, and probably all that Smirnoff, and Dan’s fucking blazer, that’s playing with his head. “And thanks for listening to me badger on. It’s like – I don’t talk to people very often about my dad, not really because it’s a sensitive subject for me, but because they become really pitying all of a sudden.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Dan nods vigorously. “When I told the guys my dad lives in the US now they got all awkward and like, _sorry that’s happened to you._ I don’t want your pity, mate; I _chose_ to move away from him.”

“Exactly,” Phil enthuses. He’s buzzing because of the alcohol, and because Dan understands what he’s saying. He turns his body so he’s facing him, giving up on the _don’t make eye contact_ promise he made with himself.

“Your turn now.”

“Hm?”

Phil smiles at him. “Come on. I’ve whinged on about my life, it’s your turn.”

Phil notices that, at some point while he was talking, Dan had finished the cigarette. The smoke still hangs in the air, though. Phil has never had a desire to smoke, but the scent clings to Dan and he wants it inside his lungs, filling him up, intoxicating him.

He listens to Dan talk, the sound of his voice like a metronome for Phil’s heartbeat. He tells Phil about his mum’s illnesses, and his parent’s divorce, and his brother Louis, who’s twelve, and goes to a school for kids with speech difficulties. You’d never think, looking at Dan’s cool, collected punk demeanour that he was carrying all this around with him, but he is, and as it rolls off his tongue Phil feels himself shuffle closer and closer.

“In all honesty, things are the best they’ve ever been,” Dan says quietly. “I have brilliant friends, I have… I have support, you know… it’s good. It’s really good.”

They meet eyes again, and Phil feels breathless.

“Me too,” is all he says, smiling sleepily, drunkenly, infatuatedly.

There’s something soft and warm on his hand, so he looks down to where it’s resting on the bench seat. Dan’s hand is on top of his.

_Dan’s hand is on top of his_.

His thumb is tucked under so it’s pressed against his palm, and his index finger is stroking lightly over the top of Phil’s hand. He stares at it until his vision goes black at the edges and he feels dizzy.

_Too much_ , he thinks.

“I need another drink,” he murmurs, and begins to stand, pulling his hand away from Dan’s. 

“Phil, wait,” Dan calls after him, sounding panicked.

“I’ll be back,” Phil tells him over his shoulder.

He doesn’t know if he will or not.

**

It’s probably past midnight by now. Phil doesn’t know. His phone is in his bag downstairs somewhere. He wants to go and get it but he doesn’t want to move.

After he’d run from Dan, he’d found some Corona and went to find Finn, and he’d given him the wallet he’d bought in Southampton. They’d both then tried to find the others but the only person they’d found was Steve, who’d seemed rather preoccupied kissing the face off the blonde girl he’d been talking to earlier. This entire party has seemed to just be a scavenger hunt for all of Phil’s friends.

He had drunk himself past the point of no return before he’d even got to the party, but now with a few extra beers and almost half a bottle of vodka inside him, all he wants to do is to go home. Dan is messing with his head, the guys are all being too straight, and he doesn’t know anyone else here. It’s all been a bad idea from the start.

He wants to call his mum. She’s likely asleep by now, but he knows she’d much rather he called her than stayed up wishing he was at home. He decides he’ll lie here, wallowing in self-pity on the bed in one of the guest rooms, for a few more minutes and then go find his phone and call her.

But no sooner has he had this thought than there is a soft knock on the door, and it begins to creak open. He sits up, startled.

Through the crack between the door and the frame, a brunette boy with hobbit hair in a well-fitted blazer appears.

And _of-fucking-course_. Of course it had to be Dan to intrude on his pity party. Of course it had to be fucking _Dan_ , out of the _fifty other fucking people_ here.  

Phil flops down onto the bed again.

“I was beginning to think you’d gone home,” Dan says tentatively.

“I’m going to, in a minute.”

“Wait – really?” Dan is still standing in the doorway. Phil glances over at him. He looks sad. “Please don’t go, Phil. You’re the reason I came.”

“Stop it, _please_ ,” Phil half-shouts. He’s at his wit’s end with this.

Dan stares back in stunned silence. The words Phil is about to say dries his mouth out.

“I’m gay, Dan.” _There you fucking go, Rachael_. He can hear his heart in his ears as he stares straight up at the ceiling. “I’m gay, and I can’t stand the way you flirt with me like it doesn’t mean anything, like it’s just a joke. Because it’s not a joke to me. It makes me _feel_ and I can’t stand it so just please stop it.”

“What are you-?”

“Oh, don’t fucking –” Phil sits up and stares Dan dead in the eyes. “Don’t fucking do that. Don’t make me think it’s just all in my head. You make sure I catch you looking at me just to wind me up. You smile at me in this _stupid_ _fucking way_ , you know how you do. You – fucksake – you put your fucking hand on mine – I –”

“And what makes you think I do it to wind you up?” Dan is shouting now too. There’s a fire in his eyes that Phil doesn’t understand. “What makes you think I have some ulterior motive?”

“Because -” Phil stops. His mind is catching up with his mouth, and he’s stuck. “Because...”

Dan is moving closer now. He comes to the very edge of the bed, still with his eyes trained directly onto Phil’s.

“If you haven’t realised yet,” and now he’s sitting on the bed, and he’s right in front of him, “I don’t.”

And he kisses Phil.

There is not a single thing in the world that could have prepared Phil for this feeling. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. Intoxicated, sitting on the bed in some room upstairs in a random girl’s house, being kissed like nothing else matters by Dan fucking Howell. And _Jesus Christ_ is he good with his mouth. It’s not like Phil has had much experience with this, but Dan’s tongue is setting alight every single nerve inside Phil’s body, just from finding its way around his mouth. He can’t help but make a soft, throaty noise. Dan’s hands are on his back and they’re pulling him closer, and closer still until he lets go suddenly, pulling back.

“Do you get it now?” Dan asks, and there’s a firm power to his voice. Phil can barely even process what Dan is saying. He just wants to kiss him again.

“I think you're going to need to show me again,” Phil slurs, because Dan is having even more of an intoxicating effect on him.

Dan’s steady expression melts into a mega-watt grin and Phil tries to kiss him again while he’s still smiling, so he tastes his teeth. They both end up giggling, Phil burying his face in the crook of Dan’s shoulder.

“I’ve waited so long to kiss you,” he murmurs into his blazer, and Dan’s arms wrap around him.

“Fucking likewise,” he replies in a laugh, and Phil sits up again to meet his eyes.

Everything is just coming to the surface and falling out of his mouth now, so he leans forward and puts his forehead against Dan’s, pulling him closer by the lapels of his blazer.  The skull pin still sits there, boldly white against the black fabric.

“Have I ever told you,” he begins, and his sentence is interrupted by Dan kissing him again, “that I really, _really_ have a thing for you in this blazer.”

Dan looks like he can’t resist the smug smile that’s taking over his face, and Phil doesn’t care, because Dan kisses him again.

“I’ll keep that in mi-” he starts, but Phil is bored of talking, and needs Dan’s wet, hot tongue in his mouth right fucking now.

He pushes the boy down onto the bed and straddles his hips as he kisses him messily. There’s a drunken need to the way they move, breathlessly, hands roaming up and down each other like they couldn’t possibly stay still.

But apparently Dan isn’t done talking yet, because he breaks the kiss and holds Phil above him at arm’s length. He’s looking up at him, with stupidly brown eyes and blown pupils and flushed cheeks and pink lips, and Phil could scream.

“I forgot to compliment you on that Placebo shirt you were wearing.”

“Tha… wait, were?”

Before Phil has a chance to catch up, there are two warm hands on his hips, rucking up his shirt. He lets Dan pull it up and over his head and then just sits there, bare-chested on top of him. He wants to say something about that being ridiculously smooth, but the words die in his throat when Dan’s soft, slender fingers begin to work their way up his torso, tracing over his ribcage slowly. Apparently, Phil _really_ likes being touched there because he lets out a soft and involuntary moan, an ache in his boxers beginning to manifest. Dan looks transfixed and Phil really doesn’t know how this is all happening.

If he were sober, maybe he’d be freaking out; maybe he’d grab his top and pull it back on, hold himself back from Dan, and shy away. But Phil isn’t sober.

He leans forward and kisses Dan again, because he needs something more. It’s barely a minute before Dan’s blazer and shirt are off as well, and he’s taken aback by the gorgeous wisps of hair that curl across his chest, and lead downwards in a straight line to below the waistband of his boxers.

It’s driving him _insane_.

Every part of his body feels detached, including his brain, because he’s both more drunk and also more turned on than he’s ever been in his life.

“Are you okay?” Dan says, and Phil realises he must look pained to some degree. In all honesty, Dan does too. He hopes it’s a mutual feeling.

“I just…” He lets his body go lax and collapses on top of Dan, groaning into his chest. His arms wrap around Phil instantly, holding him close. “I just kind of want to fuck you senseless but we’re both drunk and I’m too awkward and this is someone else’s bed so we shouldn’t.”

Dan’s entire body stills, like he’s been struck by lightning. Phil waits for a minute, and then moves to look at him.

“Can you just-” he stutters, putting his hands on Phil’s shoulders. He pushes him back, so he’s sitting up, and Phil starts to panic that he’s overstepped the line and that Dan really doesn’t want the same thing. He apologises, beginning to shuffle off him.

But Dan grabs his arms and pulls him back in a second, opening his eyes.

“You need to not say stuff like that,” he says slowly, “because you turn me on so much I can’t think.”

All the fear in his stomach dies in an instant, like a fire going out in a puff of smoke, and reigniting seconds later. Phil leans in and presses a kiss, much softer than anything before, on Dan’s forehead. When he moves back again, his expression has morphed from intense concentration to something more peaceful and gentle.

“Just lay with me,” the brunette boy hums. “Just lay with me and we can fall asleep together and hope that our boners are gone by morning.”

Phil giggles, and there’s a moment there where he’s got his head against Dan’s, and they’re nose-to-nose, chest-to-chest, breathing in the same air. It’s a moment of completeness, and serenity, and in that drunken minute, Phil contentedly thinks that this is exactly where he wants to be.

“No promises,” he whispers, and rolls over onto his side.

They climb under the covers together, and Phil is grateful for the restrictive pressure of his jeans forcing his erection to quieten down. Dan wraps his arms around Phil and they nestle up close, holed away in this room at a party, a world away from everyone else.

Their legs tangle together, and they murmur to each other quietly until they’re too sleepy to talk. As Phil falls asleep, his mind can’t quite form a grasp on what’s happened in the last few hours.

But the last thought he has, before he gives over to sleep, is how nice Dan’s boy feels against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE  
> TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT PLS


	7. The Blazer Boy Fic But Every Blazer Boy is Replaced With Phil Vomiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO IT IS I  
> first and foremost i am so incredibly grateful for all your lovely comments so far, it means so much, it really does <3  
> i feel like i might be about to ruin it in this chapter but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> you know how last chapter i said to strap yourselves in?  
> well this is kind of what happens if you don't, and you fly through the windscreen.  
> enjoy :)

The first word on Phil’s mind when he wakes up is _fuck_.

There’s a warmth all across his body, like he’s covered in ten thick blankets. Slowly, he opens his eyes and looks down to his torso. There are not ten blankets on him, but there most definitely is a _ten_ on him. Dan’s hair cascades over Phil’s chest, and his body is curled up tight, nestled into him like a tiny animal. For a good minute, he has trouble figuring out _why._

And then he remembers.

Picking himself apart from Dan, he sits up in the bed and looks around. Steph’s house. Right. And the vodka. And Dan kissed him. Lots. And Phil said he wanted to fuck Dan senseless.

 _Jesus fuck_. He doesn’t know why he’s incapable of not making a bitch ass idiot of himself all the time. Why couldn’t he have just enjoyed the moment and not run his mouth _so_ far? There’s already a blush crawling up his neck just thinking about it. Fucking hell.

The inside of his mouth tastes disgustingly sour, and he decides needs to go and freshen up so he doesn’t look and smell like a zombie. He starts to move, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and beginning to stand up – but as he does, the world tilts like he’s been knocked off his kilter, and bile surges up his throat. He has to collapse back down on the bed again to stop himself from being sick.

 _Fair enough_ , he thinks to himself as he clutches onto the side of the mattress. It wasn’t like he went easy on the drink last night. But then again, if he had done, he probably wouldn’t have ended up here, with a shirtless Dan tucked up in bed next to him. He searches his brain, trying to reach past his embarrassment for the moments of Dan kissing him like he meant it. He recalls Dan’s brown eyes staring up at him with such lust, his pink lips catching on Phil’s again, and his face splits into a grin that he couldn’t possibly hold back. He turns behind him and looks at Dan, so peacefully soft and sleepy. Despite his hangover, Phil feels a bit like he’s floating.

He thinks about it while he washes his face in the bathroom, and while he steps over a passed-out body on the stairs. He thinks about it while he searches for his bag in-between bottles and cushions. He thinks about it while he texts him mum to come and pick him up in a couple hours, and while he gets changed, and while he douses himself in aftershave to cover up the sweaty beer smell. He even thinks about it while he fights back the second round of bile, and while he forces himself to drink a glass of water in Steph’s kitchen, nodding hello to some random guys sat in the corner eating leftover pizza. It’s just impossible not to think about – that Dan Howell, the gorgeous brunette boy with gorgeous hobbit hair in a gorgeous blazer, with his infectious smile and Star Trek obsession and intense gaze, had kissed him last night like he was the last man on earth. This boy that Phil has been pining over, that he’d thought he’d had no chance with, had kissed him and touched him and slept with him in his arms. The whole thing was just vastly incomprehensible and also incredibly magical.

Phil steps out onto the patio with his glass of water, hoping to wander around and monologue to the birds about how he feels, but there’s a small circle of garden chairs pulled up on the slabs. On them sit most of his friends, minus Dee and Dan, and plus two other people he doesn’t really know. It’s cold as tits out here but most of them are just in t-shirts or thin jackets, chatting to each other semi-lifelessly.

“Phil! We thought you’d gone home,” cheers Scott, who is the only person sitting out here with his duvet wrapped right round him.

“Nah, me and Dan found this guest room to crash in,” he replies nonchalantly. “Where did you guys sleep?”

“Well, Steve slept on Emma,” Jake supplies, waiting no less than a second to take the piss out of his friend, in typical Jake style. Phil looks over at Steve and he grins and scratches at his neck, looking down sheepishly. When he moves his hand, Phil can see a mottled pink mark there.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say that Emma was the girl I saw you eating the face off last night, no?”

“Fuck off,” Steve laughs, and Phil takes that as a yes.

The conversation gains traction as Phil pulls up a chair next to Finn and sips at his water slowly. He learns the names of the two others in the circle – George is Scott’s neighbour. He’s lanky and has a man bun, but he’s quite pretty, and goes to a different nearby school. Collette, the other person, is from the same school, and she has multi-coloured braids and an abundance of piercings. Phil doesn’t talk to either of them but they both seem funny and charismatic and quite hungover.

“Where’s Dee?” Phil asks when there’s a lull in conversation.

“He went home,” Finn says. “He got rejected by Amy.”

“We can’t all get lucky,” Steve grins smugly, stretching with his hands behind his head. Jake throws and empty beer can at him.

“I bet Emma wakes up and freaks the fuck out ‘cuz she thought you were like, Alfie Seins or something,” he croons, name-dropping one of the most popular boys in the year.

“Fuck off, we were drunk, not blind. And I bet she wouldn’t want to go near him anyway, the lousy shitbag.”

“Man, I would,” comes a suggestive voice – George is winking and making an ‘OK’ sign with his fingers.

“Eugh, really?” Steve protests. “Even if I liked men, doesn’t change the fact he looks like a horse’s arse.”

“I’d watch what you say,” Collette laughs, “George has very strong feelings about the attractiveness of Alfie Seins.”

“I do,” George agrees, and the circle is filled with giggles.

Look at the way George holds himself, it’s not hard for Phil’s gaydar to go off, and the thought did briefly cross his mind when he first saw him. But now it’s obvious that George’s sexuality is common knowledge, and Phil doesn’t quite know how he’s gone from knowing barely any queer guys to knowing two in the space of a day, but he’s not complaining. And what’s more interesting is his friend’s reactions; none of them look uncomfortable, and none of them are being outwardly homophobic in any way – they all just laugh and carry on talking as normal. It makes Phil feel hopeful and clear-headed, despite the growing nausea in his stomach.

Which is really starting to become a problem.

“Phil, no offence, but you look rough,” Steve tells him, after the fourth consecutive minute of him sitting with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

“I feel it,” he returns with a dry laugh. “I think I’m gonna go get some more water and wake up Dan.”

So he does. Except, Dan’s not asleep when he goes back to the guest bedroom; he’s sitting on the bed tying his laces. Phil concludes that must have gone downstairs and got his bag, because he’s wearing different clothes to the ones he was yesterday.

“I was just coming to wake you,” he says hesitantly, unsure of whether or not Dan heard him enter.

He looks up, and smiles. “Ta da, he hath risen.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Indeed I did. I had a very comfortable body to rest on.”

“Glad to be of service,” Phil laughs, but Dan’s not meeting his eye. He clears his throat slightly, but the words he wants to say haven’t formed in his mouth yet. So instead, he asks if he feels hungover.

“A bit. Less so than I thought I would.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Why, do you feel fucked?”

“ _So_ fucked.” They both laugh. “I’m surprised I haven’t been sick yet.”

“To be fair, you did drink quite a lot,” Dan says. “And I would offer to hold your hair back while you’re being sick like the true gentleman I am, but I don’t think you’ll need my assistance.” The words he’s saying could be sweet but it feels a lot like he’s rambling, still not properly looking at Phil. “I’m going down to see the others, are you coming?”

He starts to move past Phil and out the door, but Phil catches him by the arm.

“Dan, about last night...”

“It’s fine,” he replies quickly. “We can talk about it all later if you want.”

He’s looking at Phil now, but his eyes look frantic, and it feels wrong. It feels very wrong, and Phil is starting to feel really dizzy.

“I just – I just wanted to check, like... are we good? Is this okay?” His voice is meek and his mouth feels very dry.

“Of course. We’re good, of course we’re good.” Dan smiles again, but in the harsh grey daylight spilling in from the windows, Phil can tell it’s fake.

He follows the brunette downstairs and sits on the patio slabs with him, not far from where the others are congregated in the circle of chairs. He’s watching Dan packing yesterday’s clothes into his bag, trying to calm himself down, when Jake comes over.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” he teases, lightly nudging Dan in the side with his foot. “What time did you get to sleep?”

“About 2 or something?” he replies, looking up to Phil for confirmation. He nods, trying not to blush thinking about what they were up to before then.

“Lightweights,” he scoffs.

“I suppose you were up all night then, Mr Hardman?”

“Obviously,” Jake responds. “I’m running on ten minutes sleep mate, I’m a man on the edge.”

“Diddums. I’m going to make myself some coffee or something, you want one?”

“Please.”

Dan stands, zipping his bag up. He doesn’t ask Phil if he wants a coffee – maybe he remembers his caffeine allergy.

“Did Becca ever find you last night? She was looking for you before she left,” Jake asks, rubbing his sweater paws together.

“No.” Dan’s answer is abrupt and blunt. Phil vaguely recalls Jake saying something about a Rebecca last night, but he never did find out what it was. “Shall I see if Steph has some cereal or something as well?”

“Sure. I think she might have gone home – Becca, I mean. She didn’t seem very happy – did you have a fight or something?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” There’s a stone-heavy finality to Dan’s voice. He looks almost panicked, and he’s turning to leave when Phil asks:

“Who’s Becca?”

Dan stops dead in his tracks. There’s a moment’s pause, and the bile is creeping higher and higher up Phil’s throat.

“Rebecca’s Dan’s girlfriend,” Jake says.

The words don’t hit him.

They don’t hit him as he watches Dan turn slowly back around, because he’s expecting Dan to laugh and say, _Jake, she’s just a friend_ , or _Fuck off, no she’s not_.

But he doesn’t say any of that.

He just stares Phil dead in the eyes, looking more panicked than he’s ever seen him before. And in that moment Phil realises.

It’s like a brick to the face.

You know when you’re caught doing something you shouldn’t, like breaking in somewhere, or stealing something from someone? It’s that feeling. Like he’s been electrocuted and is just stuck to the spot, unable to speak or move or think, with the panic and rage bubbling in his veins.

He opens his mouth to say something, but it fills with sick. He bolts inside the house.

Phil just about makes it to the sink in the kitchen before his guts heave out of him.

**

There’s someone calling his name. He feels so warm, so fucking warm and feverish, and so sick. It hurts to open his eyes. When he does, Phil sees his mum. She’s standing over him stroking his forehead with a very pitying expression on her face.

It takes him a minute to get his wits about him – he’s at home in bed, hungover, and – _oh_.

The memory lands like a kick in the abdomen and he shuts his eyes again.

“Do you want some dinner, love?” his mum asks him gently. He just about manages a ‘no thank you’ and sips the water she brought him before she leaves, and then he rolls over. And bursts into tears.

After he’d been sick at Steph’s he’d called his mum. She’d come to pick him up within half an hour, all of which he’d spent locked in the toilet vomiting and shouting at Dan to _go away_. He’d begged and pleaded from the other side of the door; ‘just let me in for one second’ and ‘please just let me tell you how I feel’. But Phil didn’t care. He didn’t give a shit about what Dan felt. He had just wanted to have never gone to the party.

God, his head hurts.

He wishes his mum hadn’t woken him up. When he was asleep he didn’t have to think about or remember any of this, but now he’s awake he can’t escape it. It’s fucking crushing.

Dan gave him so many signs. Catching him looking at Phil all the time, with that fucking intense gaze of his, and all the flirtatious banter – pulling him onto the pavement and holding onto his hands that time – and at the party, the looks he gave him, and fucking putting his hand on his – and when Phil flipped he _gave himself over_ , said he didn’t have an ulterior motive, and fucking _kissed_ him.

He kissed him so much. He said that he’d waited to kiss Phil for so long too. He said that he was turned on by Phil so much he couldn’t _think._ But it was fucking _lies_. It was all just a fucking game for Dan. Whether it was a half-hearted attempt at exploring his sexuality, or a way to get back at his girlfriend after some sort of fight – _oh yeah well fuck you, I almost got off with that incompetent fag last night_ – whatever it was, Phil has received the message loud and clear.

And how the hell did Phil even miss that Dan had a girlfriend anyway? Surely one of the guys, or Dan himself, would have mentioned her at some point? It occurs to Phil he could check social media for it, so he does, fighting his still-swimming vision to navigate to Dan’s Instagram profile on his phone. It’s no surprise to him that he hasn’t missed any lovey-dovey posts of the taller boy and his girlfriend, as he does stalk Dan’s profile regularly; it’s just the same screenshots of whatever he’s listening to on Spotify, or pictures of seedy-looking neon signs he finds in the city. Phil remembers he teased him about that once, and Dan just said he was a slut for neon lights, to which Phil suggested they bunk mock exams to go to Vegas.

He has to put his phone down again as a new wave of nausea washes over him. When he’s a little more sure he’s not going to projectile vomit at his phone screen, Phil goes onto Dan’s tagged photos.

Sitting comfortably there in the top right corner, is a picture of the Uma Thurman-haired girl from last night with her arm around Dan.

Phil clicks on it. The photo is sickeningly sweet. The girl is so pretty, even prettier than when he saw her last night; she’s wearing a velvet vest top and her hair frames her face so perfectly that Phil wants to punch something. She’s smiling with her tongue between her teeth, and Dan is the other side of her, grinning too. His hair looks freshly styled and his teeth are all pearly and on show and he’s glowing like he always is, his cheeks rosy and red. It hurts like an absolute bitch.

They look good together.

It’s one of those pictures with those Apple Mac love hearts above their heads. The caption just reads ‘pretty boy’ with a heart emoji. It was posted two weeks ago. Dan commented on the post, mimicking the caption but saying ‘pretty girl’ instead.

Phil bursts into tears again and catapults his phone across the room. It hits the wall with and almighty crash and, realising he’s probably smashed the screen, he cries harder.

The memories of last night are screaming in his head, throwing themselves at the walls of his brain in protest. He wishes so badly he could resist them but he can’t. He remembers that silent, agonisingly soft moment when Phil had his forehead pressed against Dan’s. They were breathing in time with each other and Dan was just so close, and it was everything Phil had never thought he’d get.

Phil remembers the moments as they were falling asleep, curled up together. They were whispering about how much they’d had to drink and how much they’d never expected for the evening to end like this. Dan’s arms were around him, like a cocoon, and Phil felt so safe and loved.

And this is the hardest part of it all, Phil thinks. That he’d felt so wonderful, and like it was the beginning of something. For an evening, he finally had what he’d been yearning for.

He should’ve known, that like everything, it was too good to be true.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY I REALLY AM  
> PROMISE IT DOESN'T END LIKE THIS COME BACK NEXT SUNDAY PLS  
> also i updated the playlist with a couple songs for this chapter. if you haven't checked it out yet, you really should, there are some of the best songs & artists in it xx  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/nohomoiero/playlist/6tzvG6ku0qOm2c8lh3YN2G


	8. Anger is a Virtue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! hope you've had a good week  
> here is freshly cooked chapter 8 my friends  
> i will admit i've had little faith in my own writing lately, which makes it harder to get writing done, but i'm trying my hardest <3  
> i hope you like it!

Phil starts to spend lunch in the library again when the new term begins.

He ignores all of Dan’s messages. And most of Finn’s, too. He just doesn’t want to talk to anyone. On Monday and Tuesday, he’s miserable, and cries his weight in tears. On Wednesday, he wakes up full of explosive rage.

Phil isn’t someone’s fucking experiment, or a pawn in someone’s game. He’s a human being, and Dan used him - shamelessly flirted with him until he caught feelings for him, then used him for one night when he’d had a row with his girlfriend to give her the middle finger. How fucked up do you have to be to do that to a person? By fourth period on Wednesday Phil can barely sit still for all his rage – it’s all-consuming. He can feel it in his fingertips, like tiny weights under the flesh.

Finn had come to see him in the library on Tuesday, but Phil had told him he just needed time and space. Finn hadn’t asked. If Dan hadn’t already told him, he’d probably figured it out for himself by now.

But guess who comes to see him on Wednesday?

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Phil please, please just give me a second -” Dan is standing at the foot of the table that Phil is sitting at. Phil doesn’t even want to look at him.

“Dan. I mean it.”

“I know. I know. But please –”

Phil stands up and leaves. He spends the rest of lunch in a toilet cubicle.

Thursday comes and goes and his mum grills him about what’s wrong. He doesn’t tell her. On Friday Finn comes to see him again, and he’s as awkward as ever but he means well.

“Dan’s been so down lately,” he says tentatively.

“Has he,” Phil deadpans, not looking up from his book on the life of Alan Turing.

“I know you two have fallen out and everything and he says he’s been really stupid but... he does really care about you. It’s not hard to see.”

“I’m sure,” he deadpans again.

“It _isn’t._ ” The taller brunette looks a little exasperated. “You haven’t seen him this week. He’s moping around like the world’s come to an end. And I don’t think any of it’s even because he broke up with Rebecca, you can tell it’s not.”

Phil freezes, and all the words on the page swim around like frightened fish. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling. He doesn’t know what he should be feeling.

“He broke up with Rebecca?”

“Yeah.” Finn pauses, seeming thoughtful. “It’s probably not my place to say but I don’t think his heart was ever in it.”

“How long had they been together?” He knows he shouldn’t ask questions but he can’t help it.

“Less than a month,” the quiffed boy replies. “He never did seem that happy with her. I think the guys put too much pressure on him to ask her out.”

Phil stops asking questions then.

It’s all too much to cope with. In the space of not even a week he’s had his heart made and then broken, and now he’s being given hope again. Life is moving three hundred times too quickly for him to deal with. And to top it all off, his GCSE mock exams start next week, and he’s barely revised at all.

On Monday, Dee and Finn come into the library and tell him that Dan’s off sick, and that they’re not leaving the library until Phil comes to sit with them. So he does, and he has to admit that he’s missed being surrounded by his friends, however much of a bunch of idiots they are. Phil feels slightly better for Dee being there, as he’s working through his own little heartbreak. At least he’s not alone in the feeling.

Phil starts his exams, and they’re not too bad. He tries not to think about Dan too much during them. But Dan doesn’t come in Tuesday or Wednesday either.

He decides, on Wednesday evening, to go to the park he first spoke to him at. Part of Phil hopes he’ll see Dan there, sitting on a bench smoking his youth away, just so he knows he’s alright, and then he can give him a dirty look and flounce out of the park. But he’s not there, so Phil sits on the bench and wastes time posting a picture of his Converses on Snapchat. George Mills, the pretty queer boy from the party, responds to it with the word ‘aesthetic’.

Phil goes home after that.

The rest of the week just seems to rot away, exam after exam starting to do his head in. He’s more or less torturing himself now by listening to his sad playlist, as he bikes home from school in the March rain. Somebody Else by The 1975 and Degausser by Brand New and the lot. He’s really not doing himself any favours.

On Saturday, he’s home alone and indulges himself by blasting the playlist from his Bluetooth speaker. He tosses his Biology revision from hand to hand – with no intention of actually doing it, of course - and he’s beginning to get sick of himself. He can’t stay miserable about Dan forever, and he can’t let some stupid boy have this much of an effect on him. Phil starts to pace his bedroom, thinking about it all, for the millionth time.

It was over before it started, really. At least Phil hasn’t had the chance to properly fall in love with Dan. Well, okay, maybe he has a little bit. But only a little. It’s just his hair, and his eyes, and his megawatt grin. And his little giggle. And the way he swings his legs whenever he’s sitting on a chair. And his unparalleled music taste. And his secret Star Trek obsession. And –

Yeah. Phil is fucked.

But before he can dramatically collapse backwards on his bed in exasperation, his train of thought is broken by his music abruptly stopping. Seconds later, it’s replaced by the familiar tune of his ringtone, Bluetoothed to his speaker. The number appearing on Phil’s phone screen, though, isn’t one he knows so naturally he declines the call. Even if it was a number he knew, he probably wouldn’t pick up, unless it was his mum. The music starts playing again but he gets a message a minute later, from the same number.

 _Hey Phil it’s george mills, wouldve snapchatted you but im locked out of my account lol. Im throwing a birthday party on 28 th _april n was _wondering if you wanted to come, bc you seem cool and Finn tells me you like the smiths. xx_

Phil has to exercise all self-control he has not to throw his phone at the wall again. The mere thought of another party has his stomach lurching and his head aching, not to mention the fact that it’s more than likely Dan will be there. If he was less tired, he’d draft and send an excuse text right now, but all he wants to do is lay down and dissolve into the sheets.

He forces his mind away from brown eyes and blazers as he sinks onto his bed. Instead, he thinks about George thinking Phil is cool, and liking The Smiths. He should probably make a friend out of him.

**

Phil’s mum works weekends, so she always wakes him up before she leaves to say goodbye, and he always falls straight back to sleep until 11am. Except, on Sunday morning he’s awoken a second time before 11am, by a pounding on the front door.

It startles him, especially as people rarely come knocking anyway. He sinks lower into bed and hopes that whoever it is will go away, assuming no-one’s in. There’s no car in the drive anyway.

But the person is persistent. Phil shuts his eyes and curls up tight, but the knocking only gets louder. He feels more uneasy the louder the knocking gets. He doesn’t know what to do.

Phil pulls his phone out from under his pillow. It’s ten past ten. He has eight DM notifications on Instagram.

They’re all from Dan.

Phil doesn’t read most of them, just the last one:

_please open up. I know you’re home._

It’s like he’s on autopilot. Furious, jaded autopilot. Phil barely even remembers getting out of bed, but now he’s running through the hall and barrelling down the stairs, his muscles tense like they’re slabs of concrete. Anger seems to do that to his body.

And he doesn’t even know why he’s so full of rage, because he stops halfway down the stairs, when he sees the outline of Dan through the frosted glass of the front door. He’s stopped knocking, most likely because he’s noticed Phil too. They both stand still for a minute, observing each other.

“Piss off,” Phil shouts at the door, from where he’s standing on the stairs.

“No,” comes Dan’s instant reply. “You can’t shut me out forever.” Phil watches him move closer to the door.

“Piss _off_ , go home,” he shouts again.

“Phil, please.” Dan’s voice breaks on the _please_ , and he sounds so sad that Phil has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from feeling too much. The letterbox starts to move and now Phil can see a hand and a set of doe-brown eyes. “Let me in for five minutes. Just five minutes and then I’ll piss off and then you don’t ever have to speak to me again. Just let me say my bit and tell you how I feel and then I’ll go, I promise you, I’ll be out of your hair forever.”

The first thing Phil thinks in response is _I don’t want you to be out of my hair forever_. That thought alone is enough to make him want to scream at Dan to fuck right off. But there’s a set of doe-brown eyes staring straight at him, and if Phil doesn’t move he might start crying.

And he really does want to hear what Dan has to say.

The door unlocks with a soft click and then it swings open. Dan stands there, as relentlessly, effortlessly gorgeous as always. He’s wearing the fucking blazer, and it still has the badge Phil gave him pinned to the lapel. He wants to rip it off and throw it on the floor.

“Five minutes,” is all Phil says. Dan nods, and Phil moves aside so he can come in.

When they’re in the front room, Phil collapses onto the sofa. It’s only now he becomes self-conscious about the big patches on the wall where there used to be paintings, and the cracks in the ceiling. Dan stands in the middle of the room and shuts his eyes, like he’s trying to compose himself. Then he opens them, and starts talking.

“I know you think that I was using you,” he says slowly. “I wasn’t.”

Phil opens his mouth to protest as he grapples with that same rage, but Dan gets in first.

“I never wanted to use you, Phil. At all. It wasn’t about that. I think it…” He runs a hand through his hobbit hair, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I guess I was just drunk enough to, like, just give up my façade, or whatever.”

Phil wants to tear his hair out. _Shut up_ , he thinks _. Just shut the fuck up and get out of my house because you’re giving me hope and feelings and I don’t want either of those_.

“Look, before I met you, I’d been able to trick myself into thinking I was straight for the longest time. But then you came swanning in with your fucking smile, and your little moles, and the way you look at me and I didn’t stand a chance, and I didn’t know what to _do_.”

The blue-eyed boy feels winded. Dan is staring at a fixed spot on the floor.

“I started to realise that I was falling for you a bit and I was freaking out because, you know, I hadn’t come to terms with my sexuality yet. And then Becca started talking to me and all the guys were egging me on so I asked her out because I thought, if it takes my mind off you, then…” He looks up at Phil for a second, and then away again. “But it just didn’t work, and I got to the party and you were there in your Placebo shirt and…”

There’s another pause, like he’s waiting for Phil to say something, but he has no idea what to say, so he stays silent.

“I thought you might already know about Becca. I guess I just didn’t care when we were drunk and you were giving me signals. I didn’t really believe my luck.”

“Nor did I,” Phil breaths, only just loud enough for Dan to hear him. He looks up, into the brunette’s eyes. “How can I trust what you’re saying?” he asks, his voice louder this time. “How do you expect me to believe what’s coming out of your mouth? Why should I trust you?”

Dan looks lost for words. He looks at the carpet, then the sofa, then the walls. Phil is on edge, like everything he’s been feeling is coming to the surface of his skin, ready to explode outwards.

“I don’t know,” he replies slowly, and he looks almost scared. “I… I don’t know why you should trust me. Maybe you shouldn't. But Phil, I mean it when I say it. I like you.”

Phil can hear all the blood swimming around in his ears, and his eyes are doing that thing again where his vision goes black at the edges, because he’s staring at the carpet so intensely.

He doesn’t know how to feel.

A huge part of Phil wants to give in. He wants to indulge himself, to believe in what Dan is saying, because his dreams are coming true all over again – this angel of a boy that Phil would kill to kiss again is here in his front room, telling him he _likes_ him. That he finds Phil’s crooked smile and smattering of moles _cute_ , and that he’s _falling for him_. The very thought lifts him off his feet enough for him to feel high.

But he’s had this feeling all before, and it only led to heartbreak.

“Look at me,” Dan says, after a period of silence, very softly.

So Phil does. He looks up, right into Dan’s warm brown gaze, and the way he’s looking at Phil, he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to kiss him more. It spreads like an urgent ache all across his body.

“I _really_ like you. I mean it,” he whispers.

It’s all it takes for Phil to lose composure.

Their lips meeting tastes different sober. Instead of vodka and nicotine, it tastes of breath mints and sleep, and it’s gentler and more domestic than before.

Still, it works like magic, Dan pulling Phil up off the sofa and into his arms in one swift movement. And so they stand in the middle of Phil’s living room, holding each other, kissing slowly. This time around, Phil can take stock to appreciate every little movement; the wet glide of Dan’s tongue against his own, the safe warmth of Dan’s arms around him, and the soft little noises Dan keeps making into his mouth. They stand like that, kissing so languidly, for minutes, until they pull apart for air.

The brunette rests his forehead against Phil’s, still holding him to his chest. Phil opens his eyes and sees Dan’s megawatt grin, proud as anything, stretching from ear to ear.

“I shouldn’t have let you in, should I?” Phil breathes, and it turns into a giggle.

“I dunno,” Dan smiles mischievously. “I think this is a pretty good result.”

Phil just shakes his head, grinning. Dan dives in and kisses him again, but after a few seconds Phil pulls back, his expression more serious this time.

“If this is going to happen,” he tells him, catching his breath, “whatever this is… I, I need to know I can trust you.”

“You can,” Dan reassures him immediately, pulling him in closer.

“I know, I mean I think I know, I just…” He swallows. “I know I’m awkward, and lame, and I can’t voice what I’m feeling too well or hold a conversation to save my life, but I don’t want to be walked all over.”

Dan’s forehead meets Phil’s again. His mouth feels dry, because he’s not used to saying things like that, but he knew he had to. It’s about time he started to appreciate and stand up for himself, he knows.

“I’d never dream of walking all over you, you twat, ever, _ever_.” The taller boy’s voice is soothing and it sounds sincere. “And for the record, some of the conversations we’ve had have been the best I’ve ever had.”

Phil just shakes his head, but he can’t help grinning.

**

They spend the rest of the day together, curled up on Phil’s sofa watching movie after movie. They order Dominos for lunch, and Dan insists on paying. Phil feels like he could get used to this, snuggled up watching action movies and thrillers, eating pizza-with-extra-extra-cheese, in between making out with the hottest boy he’s ever met. 

There’s still a niggling fear that he won’t get to get used to it.

It’s all come around so quickly, and his anxiety preys on that – but it does feel sincere; the words Dan has said had a heavy, true weight to them, and when they kiss Dan seems to be just as giddy as Phil. But he’s still stuck up in his head for nearly the whole day, that it only hits him after Dan leaves – twenty minutes before his mum gets home, as he’s not ready to explain that one yet – that _Dan fucking Howell has spent the whole day at his house and ordered him pizza and kissed him so much and watched movies with him and told him he’s falling for him_. In a way, Phil almost wishes that he’d left earlier, so that he’d had more time to scream into a pillow before his mum returned from work. He’s left with only a few minutes to compose himself before her car pulls up in the drive, so she’s understandably surprised by Phil’s chipper mood, and the pizza boxes in the bin.

He goes to bed at 10, but doesn’t fall asleep until gone midnight – equal parts because he’s thinking about Dan too much, and equal parts because he’s texting him way into the night.

When he does fall asleep, he dreams of brown eyes and blazers, predictably. Old habits die hard.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked it! pls leave a comment to spur me on xx  
> as always the spotify playlist has been updated for this chapter - check it out!  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/nohomoiero/playlist/6tzvG6ku0qOm2c8lh3YN2G


	9. Pick-Up Lines Aren't Just For Bars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLA MI AMIGOS  
> can you believe we are over halfway through this fic?  
> real talk i'm so excited to share it all with you, i'm really enjoying writing it :)  
> i hope you like this chapter, i'm gonna shut up now and let you read it.  
> enjoy! xx

Rachael is _ecstatic_.

Phil doesn’t think he’s ever seen her this animated. He’d been holding off it for weeks, but in today’s session he couldn’t hold back the tidal wave of thoughts and events that were clogging up his head, and told her everything that had happened.

“I told you something would come of it. I had this feeling when you spoke about Dan – I just knew,” she enthuses, slamming her cup down on the table beside her, so a little volcano of water sloshes out of the top.

“That’s easy for you to say now,” Phil laughs, but the way she’s so excited about it is making him want to jump around the room for joy. “But I just… I know, I’m probably just over-thinking it… but I’m scared it’s going to happen again, you know.”

“What, that he’ll suddenly reveal another secret girlfriend you didn’t know about?”

“Well… yeah, I dunno. It’s just put me on edge, I don’t know if I can trust him.”

Rachael sighs, studying Phil in the way she does before she says something profound.

“From what you said, and obviously I don’t know the boy but I’m just going to make a judgement here, I really don’t think you have to worry.”

That was exactly the answer he was looking for. “Really?”

“Yes.” She sits forward in her chair. “See, I know with something like anxiety it’s easy to struggle to trust people, but it sounds like he’s having his own issues right now. You said he’s been struggling with his sexuality?”

“Well, yeah, I think. He’d said…” Phil thinks back to the conversation in his front room, and his stomach flutters. “He’d said he’d asked out his ex to take his mind off me.” Phil is aware it sounds like he’s bragging, and he doesn’t quite believe it himself, but he’s gone all gooey at the thought.

“There you go then,” Rachael says, leaning back again. “He’s probably been having his own internal conflict about it. Like I said, I don’t know him, but he doesn’t sound like he’s going to play you. I think he’s just a bit scared.”

Her words settle over Phil like a raging sea going still, and he goes silent as he thinks about it. He’d been trying to calm his nerves about it all since the day Dan came over, but it had never really hit him that Dan was likely just _scared_. Even though he’d said words to that effect to Phil himself. And man, now it’s really sinking into his bones because Phil is just always so wrapped up in his own fear, that he forgets other people feel it too.

“Your first love is something really magical,” Rachael tells him wistfully, looking off into the distance. “It takes you on a journey you’ve never experienced before. Don’t take it for granted, Phil.”

They both know he wouldn’t even dream of it.

**

Dan starts spending every lunchtime in Jake’s form room with the boys.

His chair is always right next to Phil’s, and he’ll repetitively nudge him with his knees, playing games with his hands and legs under the table. They’ll knee and pinch and tickle each other until they’re spluttering with laughter, and no-one else at the table will have a clue why. It sends Phil’s heart sky-high.

Dan texts him before bed, and most mornings too. Their text conversations wind on throughout the day, because they don’t have any classes together, and the only time they see each other is lunch. Phil is quickly mastering the art of texting in class – “i’m so bored” under lab tables, heart emojis behind pencil cases, and the trading of corny pick-up lines hidden by a Maths textbook.

His favourite one is still “your lips look lonely, would they like to meet mine?”, because Dan replies with _they very much would, if you would come to mind after school?_. He bites back his instinctive excuses and agrees, because he wants to, he _does_ want to, however irrationally nervous he is.

They decide to meet after the last bell under the oak tree, near Phil’s Maths block. Dan is a few minutes late and Phil is wringing his hands, thinking maybe he should just send an apology text and make a run for it like always, when the brunette comes bounding over like a puppy.

It’s like something out of a movie, and it’s really quite ridiculous – the wind is combing through his hair so gorgeously, and fanning his fucking goddamn blazer so the ends of it flutter, as if he’s walked on set for his cover shoot. His satchel is swinging off his shoulder carelessly and he’s grinning, wide as anything, and right at Phil.

“Sorry,” he calls out when he’s close enough for Phil to hear. “Miss kept us behind. Like always. I think I’ll write an angry dad complaint email.” There’s a pause, and Dan’s now standing right in front of Phil, smiling and studying his face. Phil realises he must look excessively dopey and besotted, because Dan’s lips quirk up even further as he asks, “What?”

Phil looks at the floor, but finds himself physically unable to stop himself from grinning like an idiot.

“Nothing,” he mumbles, still looking at the ground. He’s trying to get his expression under control, but he’s just realised how close Dan is standing to him (there’s only a few centimetres between their feet), and it’s not helping things. “I just... you looked like something out of a movie when you walked over,” he confesses, immediately cursing the prickle of blush he can feel on his neck.

There’s a silence, and the smaller boy looks up again to see Dan leaning even closer, his smile stretching right across his face. He looks as flustered and happy as Phil feels.

He lowers his voice slightly, and, staring Phil dead in the eyes, tells him, “I really want to kiss you right now but we’re at school.”

There’s an almost magnetic temptation just to dive in to steal one anyway, considering there’s barely anyone about anymore, but somehow Phil resists.

“I guess we’d better hurry and get back to yours quick then,” he tries, and Dan playfully jabs him in the stomach before turning around and virtually galloping to the bike sheds.

On their way home, Phil cycles on the pavement and the brunette walks alongside him, telling him about Jake getting sent out of class again, even though Phil already had the full run-through via text.

When they turn the corner into their road, the knot in Phil's stomach immediately tightens, and he grips the handlebars tighter to stop himself from shaking. He asks if anyone’s at home.

“I think my mum is. But she’s cool, she’ll just sit in the front room and play Facebook flash games. She won’t get in the way. And my brother doesn’t get home ‘til after 5.”

Phil just says “cool” and carries on pedalling. He doesn’t know why he’s so goddamn anxious all of a sudden. Well, he does, but that doesn’t mean it’s not as painful.

Dan’s house is at the very end of the road, tucked in the curve of a cul-de-sac. There’s a battered Renault Clio in the driveway, and ivy grows like wild all over the outside of the house. Phil can already tell which room is Dan’s – there’s Star Trek figurines on the windowsill.

Phil leaves his bike outside and follows Dan into the house. There’s nerdy posters for Doctor Who and Marvel movies hung up in the hallway, and Phil can smell a Yankee Candle being burned somewhere near. It feels homely.

“Hi mum,” Dan calls out. He takes his shoes off and throws his bag in the corner, so Phil does the same.

“Hiya. Good day?” a female voice calls out from what Phil assumes is the living room. Dan and his mum exchange the regular pleasantries, and then Dan quietly takes Phil’s hand and leads him upstairs.

As he climbs the stairs, the panic in Phil’s stomach begins to settle a little, as he’s dodged a stilted conversation with Dan’s mum thus far.

Before Dan opens the door to his room, he turns around abruptly, so Phil nearly crashes into him.

“My room is really messy, I’m sorry,” he warns. He’s looking at the floor, seeming sheepish, so Phil shakes his head.

“I don’t care, mine is too,” he shrugs.

Dan opens the door.

The first thought that hits Phil is that the room really is the perfect summary of Dan’s personality. It’s warm in here, warmer than the rest of the house, and it’s an exact fusion of punk and nerd – tickets for The Bronx are stuck to Star Trek Beyond posters, Funko figurines are sat on top of a CD shelf, and there’s cutouts of both Kerrang! mag and adverts for sci-fi films on the ceiling. There’s crisp packets and laundry littering the floor, and his bedsheets sit in a heap on his mattress. If Phil had no inhibitions, he’d dive into Dan’s bed and breath him in as deep as he could.

Instead, he stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, not entirely sure what to do with himself. Dan shuts the door and then turns to him. He shoots Phil a devilish grin, and Phil knows then that he’s just made of trouble – pure, undiluted trouble. He’s up here in his room with Dan grinning at him like that, and it sends a thrill down his spine. Dan starts to pull his tie off.

“So,” he says airily, walking towards the smaller boy, “I believe you said there was a reason you’d like to get back here quick?”

Phil swallows and lets a smirk pull his lips upwards. “And I believe you wanted to do something, but said you couldn’t because we were at school.”

“Hmm,” Dan smiles, and he puts his arms around Phil’s neck, pressing their noses together before whispering, “Can’t think what it was though.”

Phil feels so giddy he might scream.

Dan’s lips smashing against his again feels like liquid fire inside his brain, and he doesn’t think he could ever get used to it. The kiss is slow to start with, and Phil can’t help but sigh into it, wrapping his arms around Dan’s waist to pull him closer. An issue that Phil is commonly experiencing, though, is that he starts to grin so much he can’t kiss properly. Dan picks up on this and pulls back a fraction, taking a second to study his face while giggling at him.

Phil is about to bury his head in Dan’s chest and woefully apologise for being a dork, but Dan walks him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the bed. Phil just gives into it, pulling Dan down with him as he falls, and as he does his stomach does that thing where it feels like it flips, like when you go over a bridge super fast or do a loop-the-loop on a rollercoaster.

It’s mere moments before Dan is on top of him, knees either side of his hips, kissing him so ridiculously deep that Phil thinks he might sink into the mattress and disappear forever. He wouldn’t mind that, really, as long as he could pull Dan down with him.

The rest of the afternoon melts away inside Dan’s bed, curled up and kissing and watching movies on his laptop. (Dan suggests Phil pick a movie because he doesn’t think Phil is ‘ready’ for a Star Trek marathon yet. He chooses Scott Pilgrim, which Dan hasn’t watched, and he feels proud when Dan laughs at every little joke and gasps at every plot twist). Dan’s mum makes them burritos for dinner, but they eat them upstairs on Dan’s bed, which Phil is hugely glad for. It’s easy, the whole thing – the swirling storm of worry gnawing away in his stomach is barely there; it’s more of a gentle breeze than a thunderstorm today. And he’s surprised at not having to make his excuses after a few hours and go home. In fact, his mum texts him after 9pm, asking him if he’s planning on coming home any time soon.

 “Don’t want you to go,” Dan murmurs into Phil’s hair. They’re wrapped around each other under Dan’s sheets, listening to Brand New, because Dan hasn’t really listened to them before and Phil finds that treacherous.

“I don’t want to go either,” the blue-eyed boy sighs, nestling closer to Dan. “Come over next week?”

“Yes. Yes. Please.”

“My room isn’t as cool as yours, just so you know. But it’ll be cooler with you in it.”

It’s a cheesy, lame thing to say, but Phil watches as Dan’s face slowly splits into a grin. His eyes go squint, and his nose wrinkles, and his smile spreads from ear to ear – Phil watches it happen like it’s in slow motion, and it feels like every cell in his body is trying to heave out of him because Dan is just so fucking adorable, and he’s a little bit in love.

“Was that another pick-up line?” The brunette asks, still grinning like an idiot.

“No, I just made that up.”

“Really? You’ve got a talent for it.”

“I think it’s just the effect you have on me.”

**

Phil wants to know _everything_ about Dan.

He wants to have every mannerism of his down - like the way he flicks his hair out of his eyes, and how his laugh gets higher the funnier he finds something, and the way he works his thumb in small circles on his palm when he’s nervous. He wants to know all about Dan’s family – about his brother Louis, who has learning difficulties but is the funniest person Dan knows, and his mum, who’s had her fair share of issues but is kind and laid back and likes music. He wants to know random, irrelevant things about Dan – like the fact his first word was ‘green’, and in Year 4 he tried to impress his classmates by doing a backflip off a fence, subsequently breaking both his arms. It’s like he can’t know enough. He wants to be the person to know all these stupid little things about Dan, understand the ins and outs of him like no-one else.

They aren’t dating. He knows this. They don’t walk from class to class hand-in-hand, or declare their love for each other in lengthy Facebook posts, like other cringey couples at school. Phil doesn’t really know what Dan is looking for, so he tries not to get his hopes up too much. But what he does know is that when Dan puts his hand on Phil’s back when he gets up to leave after lunch, or when he walks alongside Phil on the way home and chatters endlessly, or even just when Phil wakes up to a ‘Morning’ text with a string of kisses… it’s hard not to feel like he’s in too deep.

Because he really, really is.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE  
> i really hope you enjoyed it! please don't hesistate to let me know what you thought, y'all know by now that your comments fuel me and they mean so much <3  
> also, as per usual the blazer boy playlist has been updated! have any of you listened to it? lemme know if you have!  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/nohomoiero/playlist/6tzvG6ku0qOm2c8lh3YN2G  
> xx


	10. Bad Ideas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FRIENDS i am sorry this is a day late  
> lots of work lots of mad things happening but i love this fic and all of u SO MUCH thank you hugely for your continued support <333  
> trivia: the working title of this chapter was "BEEEEEEEEEEEES" because i didn't know what to name it  
> i hope you like this one as much as i enjoyed writing it ;))))  
> LOVE TO YOU ALL xxxx

He’s not quite sure how he’s ended up here.

It’s a Thursday night, nearing 10PM, and Phil can’t move. There are at least two hundred bodies in this room, crushed together and barrelling into each other, like some human stampede in a sweaty old club on the outskirts of the city. He’s a couple bodies away from a tall, well-dressed vocalist throwing his absolute all into a microphone, and though Phil still has no idea who this band are, he can’t deny that they’re captivating. And he’s having a lot of fun.

It took a lot of persuading to get him here. In truth, the only people who cared about going to this gig were Finn and Steve, but with the pressure of exams looming, everyone was itching to get out - so the rest of the gang excitedly tagged along. Phil really isn’t an extrovert by any stretch of the imagination, and whatever he has going on with Dan is dramatically filling his socialising quota, so he was more than reluctant to attend tonight. But Dan begged and begged until he gave up and bought tickets, and now he's here – shoes stuck to the floor by beer and sweat, having lost half of his friends to the mosh pit, and his ears ringing.

There’s a brunette boy with hobbit hair at the front of the crowd. He’s squished between the barrier and the second row of jumping fans, having pushed his way through with Finn earlier on. Where he's standing, Phil has the perfect view of him, and he can't help but watch him.

Dan dances to his own beat. No one can match him. He’s got this way of moving, like the show’s all just for him, or he’s the only person in the room that matters - his hair flicks with the rhythm of the kickdrum, as if it’s been choreographed, but still somehow looking so visceral. He makes rock horns in the air, his arm as straight as a bullet, and when he does it feels like the gesture of a god; Phil doesn’t understand why nobody has sunk to their knees in awe of him, to pray to him. He’s convinced he has all the magic in the universe stored in his body, and as he dances it shimmers, like glitter under his skin.

Phil is in love.

The show ends at eleven, and people spill out onto the street in varying degrees of disorderly inebriation, hailing cabs under warm amber streetlights. Phil waits by the exit with Steve, who is fiddling with his gauges and his limp fair hair, and Dee, who has impressively stayed stoned for the whole show (despite Jake’s protests that he only smoked about half of a poorly-rolled joint his brother made him).

Finn, Dan and Jake emerge after a while, drenched through with sweat but bounding around with excitement. Outside the venue, there’s a billboard advertising upcoming gigs, and it’s lit up by a border of pink neon. As they walk to the car park to be picked up by their parents, Dan pulls Phil in front of it and takes a picture of him. Phil grins in the car all the way home.

In the morning, Phil sees the picture of him on Dan’s Instagram. It’s captioned with lyrics: “ _such a damn good taste in music_ ”. He recognises them instantly: they’re from Lose It by SWMRS. Dan played it to him the last time he came over, and they danced to it together in Phil’s room.

Yeah, Phil is in love.

**

The end of school is growing closer and closer. March becomes April before Phil is ready for it to, and he’s reminded of all the revision he isn’t doing. Instead, he’s biking aimlessly around town or lying in bed creating shitty playlists on Spotify, always just wasting time until he can see Dan. It feels a bit pathetic, and he’s worried the feeling isn’t mutual, but Dan texts him every day and comes over all the time, so Phil lets himself entertain the idea that maybe, _maybe,_ it is.

He still doesn’t know what exactly it is that he and Dan have going on. They’re not dating – they don’t go on dates to Bella Italia and put each other on their Snapchats with a ring of hearts. They don’t go for walks along the beach and build sandcastles together. They don’t have dinner with each other’s families like they’ve always been there and always will be. They don’t even have sex, although if Phil was being entirely truthful, he hopes they can amend that soon. There’s only so many wet dreams he can cope with.

Of course, in being a romantic, Phil does ache a little to be able to call Dan his boyfriend. He wants to take him on pasta dates and beach walks and family dinners, and do all the cheesy couple things. He wants to get him flowers on Valentine’s Day, and hold his hand in the cinema, and kiss his cheek when he looks cute as they walk to Maths.

But he can’t deny there’s something quite sexy in the fact that no-one else knows about this.

It’s in the way Dan looks at him when they’re with the others. Like at lunch, when all the boys are in an animated conversation about something and Phil will turn his head to see Dan watching him, and he’ll have this smirk on his face like he knows something he shouldn’t. One lunchtime, they’re sitting at the table thigh-to-thigh, and Dan texts Phil _I can’t get this one thought of you out of my head_. Phil raises his heel off the floor so his leg brushes against Dan’s a little more, and he texts back to ask what it is. The brunette replies, _Far too sober to tell you ;)_.

But Phil isn’t really satisfied with that, at all. He’s too intrigued and horny and close to Dan to give up. He knows he can’t ask him in front of the boys, and he won’t even be able to bug him on the way home because Dan has detention (something about repeatedly failing to do revision tasks; at least Phil isn’t the only one). So he makes the decision to put his desperation to good use, and texts the brunette boy, _Meet me in the bathroom_. And it’s definitely a bad idea. A very bad idea. But he doesn’t care.

Seemingly no sooner than Phil has left the room, feeling his heart rate inclining with anticipation, does he have Dan slammed up against a cubicle wall, mouthing hot and wet kisses across his collarbone.

“What’s all this for?” Dan asks, and Phil can hear the smile in his voice.

“You’re really hot, and I want to hear the things you’re thinking,” he replies, with very little hesitation, because Dan’s hands are moving their way under his shirt to his lower back. _A bad idea_.

“You’re sure?”

Phil kisses him then, properly, and nods. “Yes. I’m very sure.”

Dan looks the blue-eyed boy up and down slowly, in a way that makes him feel hot all over, and then he pushes himself away from the wall. It’s Phil’s turn to be pushed up against the opposite cubicle wall now, as Dan walks him backwards a few steps, stealing another kiss.

“Well, right now I’m thinking that I want to get my mouth on every single bit of you,” he drawls, and his tongue is trailing up Phil’s neck. The smaller boy shudders all over, the feeling rushing through him like red hot heat. If he was less restrained, he’d be moaning already. “But lately… well, I get bored in class, you know, and I miss you…” Dan’s staring him dead in the eyes now, and his have this mischievous twinkle to them Phil really can’t get enough of. _A bad idea_.

“I can’t stop thinking about you being hidden under the table with your mouth around my cock.”

It’s a fucking miracle his knees don’t give way.

In an instant, Phil has hold of Dan and is spinning him around, slamming his against the wall again and kissing him with bruising force. His hands are roaming and frantically ruffling his clothes, desperate to get hold of skin; to feel the heat of his body against his own.

“Come over Sunday night,” he breathes raspily into Dan’s mouth, which he responds to by grinding upwards. Phil muffles a small moan in Dan’s shoulder, clinging onto him for dear life as he waits for the surge of arousal to plateau. He’s praying no-one can hear them from outside the cubicle. “My mum’s out with friends until late. You can come over and stay the night. I can show you the thoughts I’ve been having, too.”

“God,” is all Dan replies with, tightening his grip around Phil’s waist. It takes a minute for his half-lidded eyes to open properly. “Please. Yes please.”

Of all the bad ideas Phil has ever had, this is probably the best.

**

Sunday, as it turns out, is the longest day of Phil’s life.

He has nothing to do all day, so he attempts some Maths revision, and then some English, and then some Chemistry – for about five minutes each. He listens to some Wavves, microwaves a pasty, and tries to spin the ceramic plate he ate it off on his finger. It shatters on the kitchen floor.

He’s tempted to take the clock off the wall and check its batteries are still working, because it can’t only be 2:26pm. Dan is coming over at 8, after Phil’s mum leaves, so Phil has hours and hours left to wind himself up to the point of panic.

Great.

But after a few minutes of doing some meditation exercises on YouTube that Rachael had recommended, Phil’s phone starts ringing. It’s Pretty Queer Boy From The Party™, George, and it’s only then Phil remembers he didn’t reply to his text a few weeks back, about his own party. Fuck.

Naturally, he lets the phone ring until George leaves a voicemail, and then Phil listens to it as soon as he gets the notification for it.

“ _Hi Phil, uh, it’s George Mills from Steph’s party. I hope this is your number, haha. Anyways I’m having a party on the 28 th this month and I dunno, it’d be nice to see you there. Gimme a call back or something if you wanna come? Okay. Nice. Thanks, see you later_.”

He sounds a little nervous, and it’s funny because Phil is too nervous to pick up the phone, let alone call him and leave a voicemail. His persistence with inviting Phil to his party is flattering, though, because they didn’t even speak at Steph’s. He remembers the text George sent him, though – something about Finn telling him he likes The Smiths. He briefly debates texting George, and then decides he’ll wait until Dan comes over, to see if he’s going too.

And it’s a long, long wait but somehow, he makes it to the end of the day. In the fifteen minutes between his mum leaving and Dan arriving, Phil cycles through about seventy different emotions, four shirts, and three frantic circuits of the house. The second he hears that knock on the door, there’s adrenaline in every square inch of his body that he doesn’t know what to do with, but to throw the door open full force.

“Hi.”

Blazer. Tousled hair. Flushed, pink cheeks. Phil is a complete sucker for this look – Dan’s been walking in the strong spring breeze to get to his house, so he’s rosy-cheeked and windswept. He’s so, _so_ gorgeous.

“Hi. You look really gorgeous. Come in.”

Dan laughs and enters the house. “I do?”

Phil is being sheepish, looking at the floor. “Yeah. You just, I dunno. All windswept and pink-cheeked. Not fair.”

“Shut up,” Dan says, the grin evident in his voice, and then he kisses Phil for the first time tonight, soft and slow and long.

It's not long before they curl up on Phil’s bed and start to watch some Rick and Morty, and it’s warm, and cute, but Phil is slightly restless. There’s a tension that he feels hanging over them both, and he remembers the conversations they had when Phil invited Dan here. The fantasies he was having about today were far less pure than this, and because Dan is so close, he can feel his hot breath on his neck and it’s turning him on quite a bit. More than quite a bit, actually. He decides to make a small move.

His hand is resting on Dan’s waist so he strokes it down a little lower, and slowly rucks up his shirt, running his hand over the smooth skin of Dan’s sharp hipbone before moving up again. Under his shirt, Dan’s skin is warm and soft, and Phil rubs in small circles on his side.

He does this for a few minutes, and Dan’s eyes are still trained on the laptop, but his breathing stutters every time Phil dares to move his hand a little lower, and nudge at the waistband of his jeans. After a while, he feels Dan’s arm, wrapped around his waist underneath him, moving. Dan’s index finger begins to draw tiny circles on the exposed skin above Phil’s hip, dancing delicately along as if it wasn’t making all the hairs on Phil’s neck stand on end. And whenever Phil brushes his hand a little lower, Dan responds by sliding a finger underneath the waistband of Phil’s boxers. And though it’s only his fingertip, the dark-haired boy thinks he might explode from the contact.

The episode ends, and then there’s nothing to concentrate on but the feeling of each other’s touch. Suddenly, Dan pulls his arm out from under Phil and draws away from him, and Phil panics that this wasn’t what Dan was getting at and he’d been reading him wrong. But his fears are soon quashed when Dan swings his leg over him and sits on top of him, straddling his lap. Oh god.

“Okay,” the brunette says, his voice firm. “Okay. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head all day. Or all week. Or really, for a few months now but that’s not the point. I want to hear all these dirty things you said you've been thinking about me, because if I don’t I might combust.”

Phil swallows, and stares Dan in the eye as he grabs him by the waist, as if to steady himself. He waits a second, and then starts.

“Well, you, here, what you’re doing right now, this isn’t helping. Because it’s exactly where I think about you being, just…” Phil swallows again. Dan’s eyes glitter in anticipation. Really, what has he got to lose? “Just sans everything but the blazer.”

The brunette boy’s eyebrows lift and his lips part in slight disbelief. “You… you think about me, like," there's a pause, and Phil swallows. "...Riding you in my blazer?”

Phil lets go of Dan and throws his arms over his eyes.

“Yes,” he groans, and it’s a groan of arousal but also embarrassment. “Like every time I wank, Dan. It’s not fair. Fuck you.”

“That’s… shit, that’s really hot. You really have a thing for this blazer, don’t you?”

“You in the blazer, specifically. You have no idea.”

There’s silence for a moment, and Phil doesn’t dare remove his forearms from where they’re covering his eyes. And then, he feels Dan’s fingers. They’re tugging at the zipper on Phil’s jeans.

“I… what are you…” Phil lifts his head and sees Dan looking back up at him mischievously.

“You seem to be developing a bit of a hard-on. Thought I could help you out with that.”

He’s grinning like the devil. Phil wants to say something but his mouth is dry and fuck, this is happening; Dan is pulling Phil’s jeans off and exposing the tent in his boxers.

“Come here,” Phil finally manages to say, pulling Dan down to kiss him hard. Their chests are flush against each other, and the blue-eyed boy just needs _something_ , something more, like… friction.

Dan, as if he can read Phil’s mind, suddenly grinds his hips downwards and _hard_ , directly onto Phil’s boner. Phil thinks he should be forgiven for how embarrassingly loudly he moans, because _fuck_.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, gripping Dan even tighter. The brunette studies the boy underneath him for a minute, his face all scheming and entirely untrustworthy, and then he does it again. Even harder this time.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Phil can’t help but whine, because this is _really_ turning him on and Dan’s on top of him looking like an angel with a devilish plan and _fucking hell._

“Aroused, are we?” he says smugly, which Phil responds to by kissing him roughly.

“As if you aren’t, too,” he replies, and slots an arm between them both.

Carefully, watching Dan’s face as he does, Phil slides his fingers under the waistbands of Dan’s jeans and boxers, and goes further. He feels Dan’s thick, coarse hair against his fingertips and keeps going, and Dan’s gaze is so intense, like he’s daring him, or _urging_ him not to stop there. The minute he touches Dan, he can hear his sharp intake of breath, and he slides his fingers down his length until he can curl his hand around his half-hard dick.

“Knew it,” Phil smirks, giving Dan a playful tug. The retort he looked like he had dissipates unsaid at the motion, his breathing hitching again. It seems to take a minute for him to regain composure, and that thought alone is making Phil feel very, very warm.

“Alright,” Dan says suggestively after a second. “Two can play at that game.” And he slides down Phil’s body, so his head is level with Phil’s crotch.

For a moment, the brunette ponders the possibility that he might _actually_ die, because Dan Howell, with his hobbit hair and brown eyes and blazer, is now mouthing at the head of Phil’s cock through his boxers.

“Dan…”

“Mhmm?” The mumble sends vibrations throughout Phil and he grips the sheets tighter. Dan pulls away and looks up at him, his big brown eyes full of deceiving butter-wouldn’t-melt innocence; far too pure for a boy with his head between Phil’s legs.

“Don’t stop,” he replies, quietly.

Dan’s face splits into that tell-tale mischevious grin again. Before Phil can even catch his breath, his boxers are being pulled down, and then he’s just lying there with his cock aching to be touched again. He shuts his eyes, because there’s a new wave of insecurity washing over his half-naked body.

“Wow.”

He opens one eye. Dan’s kneeling between his legs, looking down at him. “Okay. Fucking hell, you are _big._ ”

“Shut up,” Phil mumbles sheepishly, but then Dan dives down and, without warning, licks a stripe up his cock.

“Lucky for you, I’ve always been told I’ve got a big mouth.”

And then he fits his lips around Phil’s head and sucks hard.

It’s like a movie, or a TV show, it really is. He’s half-expecting a corny show host and a camera crew to jump out of his wardrobe yelling, “You’ve been pranked!”, because there’s no way this is real. There’s no way Dan fucking Howell is between Phil’s legs with his dick in his mouth, looking up at him as if he were trying to turn him to stone with the power of his gaze. But god, _oh fucking god_ it’s real; Dan is sucking hard and bobbing his head, and he keeps making these soft little noises that vibrate right the way up Phil’s dick, and he doesn’t think he could be any more done for – until Dan sinks his head and swallows half of him down in one go.

“Oh my god, fuck,” Phil explodes, probably louder than he should, but he can’t help it. Dan hums around him in response, moving up slowly before swallowing him down again, even further than before. Phil can feel every little muscle in Dan’s throat twitching and stretching to accommodate him, and it’s taking all he’s got in him not to thrust up into him like he desperately wants to.

Instead, he tangles his fingers in Dan’s hair, and Dan looks up at him then. It’s almost intimidating, watching his brown eyes bore into his own, wide as anything and then half-lidded and fluttering as he takes him even deeper.

“Shit, _Dan_ ,” Phil pants, stretching out his name long and slow. The brunette then makes a sound that can only be described as a whimper, his brow furrowing. For the second time tonight, he looks like he’s lost composure a little – that cool, sexy exterior he’s trying to project is starting to slip, purely from hearing Phil moan his name.

He pulls off him a little. “Jesus. Keep saying my name like that, I’m so fucking hard.”

Yep, Phil is going to die.

He’s going to die when Dan takes him back into his mouth and sucks him so hard he sees stars. He’s going to die when he rubs Phil’s head on the inside of his cheek, eliciting more whimpers and moans that slip out of him because he can’t fucking help it anymore. He’s going to die when he takes him all the way down to the base, the entirety of his length inside Dan’s hot, wet mouth. He’s going to die when Dan tongues his slit over and over again, the feeling rushing up Phil’s body in wave after wave of pleasure that’s almost too intense to handle. He’s gripping at the sheets with one hand and curling his other in Dan’s hair, trying so, so hard to keep it together, but the feeling growing rapidly in his abdomen and working its way down won’t relent.

“Dan I think I’m going to come,” he chokes out. Dan looks up at him, wide eyes shining with anticipation. He starts to bob his head faster, and it’s then that Phil realises that while he has one hand on the base of Phil’s dick working at what his mouth doesn’t cover, his other hand is moving up and down his own cock.

It’s that image, right in front of him, that sends him over the edge. The image of Dan, sweating and moaning around Phil, his lips full and pink and stretched wide, getting himself off with one hand and Phil with the other. Phil’s fist tightens in Dan’s hair as it hits him; white hot pleasure racing through him in ecstasy as his back arches off the bed, crying out pleas of _fuck_ and _God_ and _Dan_ as the brunette works him through his orgasm, swallowing the evidence like there’s nothing he’d rather be doing. Phil feels like he’s coming forever, lost in a void of heat and sweat and passion.

When he collapses down onto the mattress again, Dan pulls off him, licking his lips. He sits up and back onto his heels, and stops touching himself for a second, looking at Phil wistfully.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” is the first thing Phil says, pulling Dan down onto him for a soft and chaste kiss.

“I’m good with my mouth, then, yeah?” he grins.

“I’ve never come that hard in my life. So yeah, I guess so.”

Dan laughs into Phil’s shoulder and sits up again. He’s smiling, flushed and sweaty, but he seems strained. Phil hasn’t forgotten that there’s another task at hand.

“Now it’s your turn,” he smiles, reaching down for Dan’s cock between them.

It really is a magical sight to see Dan come undone. Phil is convinced there isn’t a single sight in this universe better than the look on Dan’s flushed face when he comes. And the fact that he’s the one who gets to make him unravel, spilling over his fist in a cacophony of moans of Phil’s name – it’s unbelievable. And _so fucking hot_.

His sheets smell of Dan for a week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHIT LOL I'M NOT GOOD AT SMUT I TRIED  
> TELL ME IF IT'S GOOD OR NOT PLS  
> poor phil he really is in love with this boy  
> SPOTIFY PLAYLIST WAS UPDATED with some absolute bangers i am of the opinion you are lacking some TUNES in your life if you don't listen to it xxx  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/nohomoiero/playlist/6tzvG6ku0qOm2c8lh3YN2G  
> have a good week yall xxx


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